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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29664330">The Death of a Bachelor</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/RailMeBarrow/pseuds/RailMeBarrow'>RailMeBarrow</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Downton Abbey</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>(well trying to), Angst, Character Death, Death, Depression, Edwardian Period, Grief/Mourning, Guilt, Heavy Angst, Implied/Referenced Child Abuse, Loneliness, Mentions of conversion therapy, Moving On, Nightmares, Past Child Abuse, Period Typical Attitudes, Period-Typical Homophobia, Sad, Season/Series 06, Suicide, Trauma, Wakes &amp; Funerals</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>In-Progress</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-02-23</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-15 23:06:46</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Not Rated</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Major Character Death</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>20</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>21,638</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29664330</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/RailMeBarrow/pseuds/RailMeBarrow</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>What if Thomas had succeeded in his suicide attempt?</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>38</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>94</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>1. Chapter 1</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>15th August 1925</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Andy's heart raced as he ran down the stairs, desperately trying to find Mrs Hughes and Anna. Every time he shut his eyes he saw Thomas’s lifeless body, floating in a pool of his own blood. </p><p>“Where's Mrs Hughes and Anna?” he barked, sliding into the kitchen. </p><p>“Mrs Hughes is in her sitting room.” answered the cook, a look of confusion painting her face. Andy ran down the corridor and burst into the small room where Anna and Mrs Hughes were sharing a pot of tea. </p><p>“Andrew?” asked Mrs Hughes, surprised by the footman's abrupt entry.</p><p>“You've got to come quick, its Thomas, he's dying.” gasped Andy, tears threatening to spill from his eyes. Both of the women stood quickly, their chairs squeaking against the floor. “Anna, you go get Dr Clarkson, Mrs Hughes come with me.” he commanded, leading the older woman back to the bathroom. </p><p>He opened the door and stared back down at Thomas’s body. He tried desperately to control his breathing as Mrs Hughes told Miss Baxter that Anna had left for Dr Clarkson. Try as he might, Andy could not tear his eyes away from the man he had admired so much, the man who had taken him under his wing. </p><p>Andy could hardly hear what the women were saying, his eyes fixed on Thomas's corpse. He couldn't believe that Thomas would do this to himself. The man always seemed so strong, so independent, although he couldn't deny Thomas had seemed a bit despondent recently, they'd all noticed.</p><p>Mrs Hughes instructed him to take Thomas's arm so they could move him to the sick room. Andy approached the bath hesitantly, not wanting to get too close and see just how real it all was. He was still hoping this was just a bad dream. </p><p>Andy felt tears start to build in his eyes as he grabbed Thomas's body, feeling how cold it was to the touch. Living people don't feel like that. Maybe there was still a chance. Please let there still be a chance. </p><p>They hoisted Thomas out of the bath, his wet body floppy in their hands, his head lolling backwards. Andy choked back a sob as Thomas's eyes fell open, glazed over and unseeing. Maybe he was just unconscious, deep in sleep. Please. </p><p>They carried him slowly to the sick room, dripping blood and cold water on the wooden floors. With each step Andy seemed to lose hope. Where was Dr Clarkson? Why was he taking so long? </p><p>He kicked open the door when they approached it, feeling Thomas's wet body almost slip out of his hands. They eventually made it to the bed and settled him there, the blood now oozing slowly from his wrists. Baxter desperately tried to stop the flow, tearing off more of her skirt to stop it. </p><p>“Phyllis…” Said Mrs Hughes softly, laying a hand on Miss Baxter's back. “There's nothing more we can do now, not until Dr Clarkson arrives.” Miss Baxter stopped her ministrations and instead raised her hands to pray, her eyes shut. </p><p>As if summoned, Dr Clarkson arrived, Anna hot on his heels. The woman gasped when she saw Thomas, lying lifeless on the bed, covered in his own blood. The doctor quickly made his way over to Thomas, checking his vitals.</p><p>The world seemed to stop as Clarkson checked his pulse. Everyone held their breath as the doctor turned. </p><p>The doctor shook his head. </p><p>Phyllis let out a cry and grabbed Thomas by his wet, bloodied hand. Mrs Hughes held Anna close to her as the younger woman wept into her chest. Andy just stood there, watching as doctor Clarkson left the room. His world was caving in on itself and he couldn't believe it. </p><p>Thomas was dead.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0002"><h2>2. Chapter 2</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>15 August 1925</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Everyone sat around the table, looking slightly confused at why Carson had called a meeting at midday. Bates noticed that his wife and some other staff were absent from the meeting, although he assumed they were probably away in the village on an errand. Carson stood, his hands grasping the back of his chair.</p><p>“I have some unfortunate news…” he started, his voice quiet and low. “Mr Barrow has passed away, he died this morning.” a flurry of gasps were heard around the table, molesley clapping a hand to his mouth. Bates blinked a few times in shock, unable to process the fact that the man who had spent decades trying to make him miserable was dead. </p><p>Daisy let out a small yelp and buried her face in her hands. Mrs Patmore moved forward to hold her in her arms, gently smoothing her hand over the younger woman's hair. Daisy had known Thomas forever, how could he be dead. She sobbed into the cooks chest, unable to comprehend the fact he was gone. It all happened so fast. </p><p>“Mr Carson?” asked Bates, feeling rather numb. “May I ask how Thomas-  i- i just don't-” he took a deep breath, trying to calm himself down. “I don't understand how, he seemed fine this morning.” </p><p>Carson inhaled deeply, his knuckles white with the strain of holding onto his chair. He cleared his throat before speaking, obviously uncomfortable with answering. “It um… it appears that Mr Barrow killed himself…” his eyes were fixed firmly on the table in front of him. </p><p>Everyone seemed to stop, all staring at Carson. They knew it was him who had done this, that had killed Thomas. Everyone had noticed how downspirited he had been ever since Carson had begun badgering him to leave Downton. Thomas had been there for as long as most people could remember and then he was cast away from the one place he called home. </p><p>Molesley pressed a hand to his mouth in shock. He couldn't believe it. He'd spoken to Thomas just this morning about… OHH so that's why he said that. A tear threatened to slip from his eye as he remembered what Thomas had said to him before he left for the school. He was touched that in Thomas's last hours on earth he would wish Molesley well. </p><p>Everyone sat in silence for a few minutes, trying to take in the information they never thought they'd receive. Mr Barrow couldn't be dead. That man had lived through the war, had almost been fired and thrown out more times than they could remember, had almost been sent to jail a few times too. But now he was dead by his own will. They couldn't wrap their heads around it. </p><p>Mr Carson let go of the chair and stepped backwards. “I suppose i should go and inform the family…” he left his sobbing staff in the servants hall and retrieved the tea tray from the kitchen before making his way upstairs. He felt in a daze as he walked to the library where they were sat, his mind replaying the moment he saw Thomas' cold, dead body over and over again. </p><p>“Ah here's Carson with the tea!” exclaimed Lady Mary as he walked through the door. He set down the tea, unsure how to break the news. He knew that Lady Mary and her son especially were very fond of Mr Barrow. </p><p>“Carson, what's happened, where are the footmen?” asked Robert. </p><p>“That is something I need to discuss with you M’Lord.” he said in hushed tones.</p><p>Lord Grantham made his way over to the table as the rest of the family looked on. “What is it, Carson?” he asked.</p><p>“Its Mr Barrow, M’Lord…” he started.</p><p>“Causing trouble again is he?” chuckled Robert before noticing the grave look on Carson's face.</p><p>“He's dead, killed himself.” said Carson quickly and quietly, not wanting to let the rest of the family hear.</p><p>“Good God!” exclaimed Lord Grantham, “Thomas has killed himself?!” the rest of the family gasped. </p><p>“I'm afraid so M’Lord…” answered Carson. Robert fell into the chair next to the tea table. He couldn't believe it. How could Barrow be dead? That man seemed invincible. But now he's killed himself. Probably because of me, Robert realised grimly. He allowed his head to fall into his hands, resting his arms on his thighs. </p><p>“You're excused Carson, we'll serve ourselves.” said Lady Grantham, noticing her husband's distress. Carson exited the room swiftly. Mary and Edith both covered their mouths with their hands, shocked that Barrow would do something like that to himself. </p><p>Tom just stared into the distance. He'd known Thomas ever since he'd come to Downton, they'd never really got along but he'd never wish something like this upon him. Maybe he should have protested more when Lord Grantham and Carson were so adamant to fire him, maybe then he wouldn't have taken such drastic measures.</p><p>Lady Grantham got up from the sofa and headed over to her husband, laying a comforting hand on his back, feeling him shake slightly under her touch. She may not have liked Thomas much, but without him, her grandchildren would still be under the supervision of that evil nanny. And to repay him for saving the kids they drove him away, drove him to suicide. </p><p>Mary removed her hand from her mouth and finally spoke up, her eyes filled with tears. </p><p>“Do you still think dismissing Thomas was a useful saving, Papa?”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0003"><h2>3. Chapter 3</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>15 August 1925</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Mrs Hughes and Anna left Baxter and Andy to watch over to the body while they called the appropriate authorities. Miss Baxter's weeping had tailed off into gentle sobs, still grasping Thomas's cold hand. The bleeding had all but stopped now but it left trails all over the floor and the bed, it covered their clothes and skin, drying to be uncomfortably sticky. </p><p>Maybe if they'd found him sooner, stopped the bleeding faster, he wouldn't be lying on top of his sheets, wet clothes clinging to his grey skin. Maybe if they'd asked him how he was, he wouldn't have made this final decision. How did they not see this coming? </p><p>Andy sat stock still in his chair, his eyes fixed on the face of his superior. He half expected them to flutter open, for Thomas to wake up and tell them all that this was just some particularly cruel joke. Everyone had warned Andy about Thomas, his nasty ways. Was it really beyond him to pull a trick like this? </p><p>But as Andy stared on at Thomas’s corpse he remembered Thomas's eyes falling open as they hauled him down the corridor. There was no life behind those eyes. Thomas’s usual spark had been gone for some while but those eyes… they were glazed and unseeing and Andy couldn't get them out of his head.</p><p>Across the bed, Miss Baxter let out another sob, gently kissing Thomas's hands. Andy supposed he should be crying too. Thomas had been so good to him, so kind and caring, he had spent hours teaching Andy to read, even when it was obvious they were getting nowhere he persevered. For Andy. </p><p>Baxter had known Thomas since he was a babe in arms, wrapped tightly in swaddling clothes and passed around the family. She had watched him grow up, a sweet young boy with too much love in his heart for just one person. She remembered watching him play with a stray cat, bringing it food and showing it his favourite toys. Surely that couldn't be the same boy that was lying wet and cold on the bed, unmoving.</p><p>She stroked his hand and kissed it again, wiping the tears away from her cheeks. She could have stopped this. She could have saved him. But instead she called him silly, dismissing what he was feeling. Now he paid the price for her mistakes.</p><p>There was a gentle rap at the door. Andy got up to unlock the door. Mrs Hughes had instructed they keep it locked, lest one of the young maids catch a glimpse of his cadaver, lying sullen and covered in red. It was horrific.</p><p>Anna’s blonde head poked round the door when he opened it. Her eyes were red from crying and her mouth was downturned in a frown. She opened her mouth to speak but then stopped and chewed her lip, the sight of Thomas stopping her in her tracks. </p><p>“Mr Carson…” she started, wringing her hands in her apron. “Mr Carson has told the staff and the family. Mrs Hughes has called the undertakers - they'll be here in a few hours. If they ask, we’re to say that Thomas slipped and fell onto his razor.” she whispered. They all knew suicide was a crime. They knew they would have to lie if they wanted Thomas to have a proper burial.</p><p>Andy tried to answer, but found he was unable to say anything, his eyes still fixed on the older man laying on the bed. Miss Baxter finally spoke up, the silence becoming unbearable. </p><p>“Thank you Anna.” she said, her voice hoarse and flat after all the crying. “We’ll stay with him until they arrive.” she turned back to the corpse, expecting Anna to leave. </p><p>But she didn't. Anna shut and locked the door behind her, pulling up a chair next to Phyllis. Slowly Anna wrapped an arm around the other woman and held her, rubbing soothing motions up and down her arm as Baxter weeped. </p><p>Andy fell back into his chair and watched the women supporting each other through their grief. Who did he have? Only Thomas. </p><p>And now Thomas was gone.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0004"><h2>4. Chapter 4</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>15 August 1925</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The family had spent most of the afternoon in the library, drinking copious amounts of tea to deal with the shock. They all blamed themselves. If only they'd been a little more considerate, if only they'd let him stay a little longer, maybe he’d still be alive. </p><p>The thing the dreaded the most was telling the children. Thomas had bonded so well with them, spending his free time playing with them and reading to them. They all loved him so much and saw him as an honorary father figure. Poor George. Thomas had filled the gap Matthew had left in George's life, but now he was gone too. </p><p>There was a sharp knock at the door. The kind of knock that didn't mean good news. They all stood, Mary and Robert making their way to the door and opening it. Two men in dark suits stood outside, a stretcher in hand and a large car behind them. Robert assumed they were the undertakers. </p><p>“Could you show us to the body, sir?” the older man asked. Robert suddenly realised he didn't know where the corpse was. Where would Carson have put him? </p><p>“Our butler will show you to him in a minute.” said Robert, pulling on the bell to summon Carson again. The butler appeared less than a minute later, his face somber and wan. As soon as he saw the men he knew who they were. </p><p>“This way gentlemen.” he said, showing them to the servants door and taking them up the stairs a few flights. They carried their stretcher under their arm and a sheet to cover him with was grasped in the younger man's hand. It would be a hassle getting him down all these flights of stairs.</p><p>Both Robert and Mary followed, leaving the rest of the family behind. They stopped climbing the stairs on the second floor and surveyed the scene before them. A trail of blood led from the bathroom to the sick room, water pooling around the blood. It was carnage. Mary was starting to wish she hadn't come.</p><p>Carson knocked on the door of the sick room and Robert heard the lock turn. Andrew the footman peered round the edge. Upon spotting the undertakers his face paled even more. He attempted to shut the door again but Carson jammed his foot in the gap.</p><p>“You can't take him… please don't take him…” whimpered Andy, his lip beginning to wobble as he pushed on the door, the effort futile. </p><p>“Andrew… let us in.” commanded Carson, pushing back on the door. Mary could hear the gentle sobbing of a woman from behind the door. </p><p>“NO!” shouted Andy, painfully slamming the door back on Carsons foot. “YOU CANT HAVE HIM!” his voice broke as he slammed the door once more. A gaggle of maids and hall boys had appeared at the end of the corridor, attracted by the shouting. </p><p>“ANDREW! You are making a scene!” shouted Carson in response. “Let us in now!”</p><p> Andy did not move, his face full of anger at Carson, at the world. How dare they try and take Thomas away from him. How dare they try and take the one person who believed in him. Anna got up from her chair and moved to stand behind Andy, gently laying her hand on his back.</p><p>“Come on Andy… It's time to say goodbye. Let not prolong this anymore than is needed… Say goodbye to Thomas and let the nice men in. They’re only trying to do their jobs…” she said softly to him, rubbing circles into his back. Andy moved away from the door, allowing the undertakers and the Crawleys in. </p><p>Andy moved back to the corpse, pressing a kiss to his forehead before moving away for the last time. He turned and fell into Anna’s open arms, letting her hold him as he wept. And wept. And wept. He thought he’d never stop crying. It was all hitting him properly now, the fact that Thomas was gone forever. He buried his face in Anna’s neck, letting her collar be wetted by his tears. </p><p>Mary couldn't hold in a gasp as she moved into the sick room. She had never seen a corpse quite like his. Sybil's death had been traumatic but she looked as if she was asleep when she died, even Pamuk looked largely peaceful as he lay in his bed with his eyes wide open. </p><p>But Thomas… his corpse was covered in blood, the source of which seemed to be his wrists. His wet clothes clung to his skin, soaked in his blood as well as the water. His skin was pale grey and seemed so thin, as if she could break it with the lightest touch. The bed he lay on was covered in more blood, as were those who surrounded him. </p><p>It was obvious he did not have a peaceful death.</p><p>Robert felt vaguely nauseous as the undertakers walked past him into the bedroom. He watched as Andy pressed a kiss to the cadaver before breaking down in Anna’s open arms. Robert's heart ached for him. The boy was so young, it was unfair he had to go through something like this. He didn't know what he expected to see when he walked into the room but it definitely wasn't this. </p><p>The unsettling smell of blood and death filled the room, causing Robert to press a hand to his mouth. The corpse itself was so… violent. In some ways it was fitting that such a volatile man have such a volatile end but not now. Not for many years to come…</p><p>Robert was shocked out of his stupor by the older undertaker asking him to take the end of the stretcher so the two men could lift the body and roll it on. They did so seamlessly, moving Thomas’s body quickly and efficiently onto the stretcher that was being held by Carson and Robert. The two men then moved the stretcher and corpse back onto the bed, opening up the sheet they had brought to lay on top of him. </p><p>Before they lay the sheet over Thomas, Baxter moved to take his hand once more, holding it between two of hers. She shut her eyes as she touched him for the last time, another sob escaping her lips. She pressed a small kiss to his icy fingers before standing up and walking to the other side of the room, where Anna still held Andy’s shaking form. </p><p>Carson watched as they slowly lowered the white sheet onto Thomas. He had made it no secret that he despised Barrow, despised his nastiness, despised his treatment of anyone under him, despised his disgusting ways, despised his homosexuality. But even he wouldn't wish this fate on Thomas. Not even Thomas deserved to die alone and cold, covered in his own blood. </p><p>The two undertakers picked up the stretcher with a grunt, making their way to the door. The white sheet was already beginning to grow red in spots, so it was important they got him out fast, away from prying eyes and nervous dispositions.</p><p>“Out the way we came in, sir?” asked one of the undertakers. Robert nodded and gestured towards the stairs. </p><p>“Surely you don't mean out the front door, M’Lord?” piped up Carson, almost angry at the idea. “The servants door will do just fine.”</p><p>“No, take him out the front door. There will be less stairs and less chance of meeting anyone on the way.” answered Robert with a tone of finality that Carson knew not to mess with. The Butler merely nodded in acceptance, leading the men along the corridor and down the stairs. </p><p>Branson waited in the hall for them, his face stony and full of lament. He held in a gasp as the undertakers turned the corner, the white sheet on their stretcher flecked with blood. He could hardly believe the man he had known for decades, the man he had watched fight in the servants hall, the man who always seemed so alive and buzzing was under that sheet. He couldn't wrap his head around it. </p><p>The rest of the family moved to the window, watching the men load the stretcher into the back of their car and drive away. None of them were ever particularly close to Thomas, he was staff after all, but they all felt a certain responsibility in his death. It all seemed so surreal. </p><p>~~~</p><p>After some time, Andy pulled his face away from Anna’s neck wiping the tears off his face and sniffing quietly. </p><p>“Am sorry about that…” he muttered, embarrassed by his outburst. The two women looked at him with pity and sadness painted across their features. </p><p>“It's okay Andy.” whispered Anna, her eyes red rimmed and her cheeks wet. “We’ve all had a shock, it's okay to cry.” Andy just nodded in response, unsure what to say next. He suddenly realised how wet and dirty he was, covered in bath water and blood. He needed to get out of these offending clothes as soon as possible, rid himself of anything that reminded him of just how real it was. </p><p>Miss Baxter noticed how uncomfortable he looked, staring down at his clothes, and piped up, speaking for the first time in hours. </p><p>“We should get out of our wet things.” she said, her voice still quiet and broken, but surprisingly calm. “Then we should start planning for the funeral. I've got the contact details of some of his family, I can write to them this evening.” They all nodded in response before leaving to get changed. Baxter stayed behind for a moment, looking around the room.</p><p>It looked so empty without Thomas. </p><p>Everything felt empty without Thomas.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0005"><h2>5. Chapter 5</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>15th August 1925</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>For dinner the family had a small buffet, wanting to give their staff some time to grieve. They continued their normal conversations about the estate and whatever mundane argument Violet and Isobel were having, but tension filled the air. </p><p>Every word was carefully picked, everyone felt as if they were walking on eggshells, waiting for someone to blow. But they weren't quite sure who. Eventually they gave up on talking, finished their dinner and went on into the drawing room where they sat in silence. After some time, Mary stood up and spoke.</p><p>“I think I shall go and read to George, before he is put to bed.” She announced, as if she was trying to assure herself that it was, indeed, her plan. She stood still for a moment, the rest of the family staring up at her before she left. </p><p>The walk to the nursery had never felt so long. Mary didn't know how she would tell George that the man he saw as an honorary father was gone, just like his real father. Would he even understand fully? He was still so young. </p><p>She opened the door to the nursery, flashing a tight lipped smile to the nanny. </p><p>“Hello nanny, I was wondering if I may read to Master George tonight?” she asked quietly, looking to the carpet where her son was playing with a toy car Thomas had got him, unaware of the conversation going on behind him. </p><p>“Of course, your ladyship.” answered the nanny, knowing why Mary had really come. The nanny left them alone together, the other children already in their beds. </p><p>“George darling?” called out Mary. Her son turned his head, still pushing his toy car around on the floor. “Mummy’s come to read you your bedtime story. Now which book do you want?” </p><p>George ran over to the small bookcase as fast as his little legs would carry him “DRAGON, DRAGON, DRAGON!” he shouted, lifting up his favourite book with both his hands. Mary quickly shushed him, noticing the girls starting to stir in their beds at the noise. </p><p>“Come on George, quietly, now into bed with you!” she said, pulling back the covers of his small bed as he climbed in, grabbing his teddy as he got comfortable. </p><p>“Why isn't Mr Barrow reading to me?” asked George, his big blue eyes staring into Mary’s brown. He really did have his fathers eyes. “Mr Barrow always reads to me.” </p><p>“Actually George, I have something to tell you about Mr Barrow. He-” Mary started before her son cut her off.</p><p>“Does he have a cold? ‘Cause he wasn't coming to play with me all day and- and Nanny says when you've got a cold you can't play…” George looked saddened by the idea of Thomas having a cold. The poor baby.</p><p>“No Georgie, I’m afraid it's a bit worse than that…” Mary bit her lip, unsure how to continue as George furrowed his brow, confused at what his mother meant. “Well you see George… Mr Barrow has gone to heaven-”</p><p>“Like Daddy!” exclaimed George. </p><p>“Yes George, just like Daddy. He's in heaven with God and Daddy now.” answered Mary, glad her son had found a way to relate to what she was telling him. He was so clever already. </p><p>“Does… does that mean Mr Barrow cant play with me anymore?” asked George, his blue eyes suddenly filling with tears that threatened to spill. </p><p>“I'm afraid not George.” said Mary, her voice quiet and soft, not wanting to upset the boy anymore than was necessary. </p><p>Nevertheless, her son's lip started to quiver as he tugged his teddy closer to his chest. He started to cry and Mary picked him up, holding him to her heart as he cried for his friend, his idol. </p><p>“Mummy… I miss Mr Barrow…” he whimpered against her neck. She rocked him gently, holding him tightly. She hadn't felt able to cry in front of her own family, but here with her son, she let the tears fall freely, running down her cheeks as small sobs escaped her lips. </p><p>“I know Georgie… I miss him too.”</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>i started this yesterday how does it already have 5 chapters i- </p><p>where is the motivation to finish my other pieces :/</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0006"><h2>6. Chapter 6</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>15th August 1925</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Miss Baxter knocked gently on the door to Lady Grantham’s room, entering when she answered. Cora sat at her dressing table, still clothed in her dress from that morning, none of the family bothering to change for dinner. She turned as the door opened, her face contorting into a frown as she saw Baxter enter.</p><p>“Oh Baxter, you needn't dress me tonight, I’ll manage fine on my own.” she insisted, standing and walking over to Baxter. She laid a soft hand on her maid’s shoulder. “I know you and Thomas have known each other forever, this must be very hard for you, feel free to take some time off from your usual duties.”</p><p>“Thank you, your Ladyship, but I’d rather continue my duties. Keep myself busy.” she spoke quietly, trying to stop any tremble in her voice. She knew she wasn't ready to work again but she couldn't bear to stay in the servants hall, the air seemed so thick with grief and guilt, she needed to get away. </p><p>Cora walked back to her dressing table and sat down, allowing Baxter to start unpinning her hair. The maid moved slowly and carefully, smoothing each piece of hair down before brushing it and moving onto the next pin. The whole process was very therapeutic, the repetitive motions calming her somewhat.</p><p>“So what happens next?” asked Cora, looking up at Baxter in her mirror. “With Thomas, I mean. Does he have any family?” </p><p>“He has a father and a sister in Manchester.” answered Baxter, brushing slowly through her Lady’s hair. “I have his sister’s address and I’ve written a letter to her. I doubt she’ll care though.” </p><p>“Whyever do you say that? Surely she would want to know if her brother had…” Cora trailed off, unable to say the actual words.</p><p>“His family cast him away and cut off contact some time ago, M’Lady.” Said Baxter, her voice low and quiet. </p><p>“Because of him being…” </p><p>“Yes, because of that.” affirmed Baxter, plaiting Lady Grantham’s hair. “But it won't hurt to try and contact his sister. Maybe she will find it in her heart to come to his funeral.”</p><p>“When is the funeral?” Asked Cora, removing her bracelets and rings, placing them in a small china bowl. </p><p>“Mrs Hughes and I are going to Downton village tomorrow to speak to the vicar about a service.” Baxter finished her plait and tied a small bow at the end, moving to start unbuttoning Cora’s dress.</p><p>“Please let me know what you find out a date.” Answered Cora, standing to slip off the dress as Baxter went to get her nightgown out of the wardrobe. “We are all eager to attend and pay our respects. We would be willing to cover any costs too.” </p><p>“That's very kind of you, M’Lady.” answered Baxter, a small smile spreading across her face at the generosity of the family. If only they had been more generous when Thomas was alive. Cora pulled on her nightgown and dabbed lotion on her hands, massaging them slowly.</p><p>“It's the least we can do. Thank you for coming up here tonight Baxter, you're excused.” Baxter nodded and made her way to the door. “And I'm sorry Phyllis. Truly.” </p><p>“Thank you your ladyship.” said Baxter softly before making her way back down to the small stuffy servants hall. She entered the hall and took her usual place at the table, everyone sitting in silence. </p><p>How would life ever get back to normal.</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0007"><h2>7. Chapter 7</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>15th August 1925</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Mrs Hughes and Mr Carson sat in the latter's office, sharing a bottle of sherry. They were both worn out. The day had been long and arduous, full of heartbreak and loss. They had hardly had a spare minute to talk but now that they did, they had nothing to talk about. </p><p>Talking about anything but Thomas felt vaguely disrespectful, as if they were pretending this hadn’t happened. On the other hand, talking about Thomas was too painful, too raw. They had both known Thomas for decades, they watched him arrive as a fresh faced footman, too cocky for his own good. They had watched him grow into a man, watched him learn the value of being kind.</p><p>Mrs Hughes remembered the night she found Thomas out in the rain, curled in a ball and weeping. She had taken him into her sitting room, given him a warm towel and a cup of tea, and listened to him. She remembered how fragile he had looked that night, stuttering like a child. He must have been so scared, being cast out into the world with no money, no reference. </p><p>And yet, they were doing the same thing to him all these years later. She should have known that all of this badgering him to leave would send him over the edge. She should have stopped Carson. </p><p>“We should contact jimmy.” she said quietly, finally breaking the silence that covered the room. Thinking of that night had reminded her how close Jimmy and Thomas became, despite their rocky start. He would want to attend the funeral. </p><p>“I suppose so…” said Carson, taking a sip of his sherry. “Though I’m not sure what his lordship will have to say on the matter…” </p><p>“I couldn't give a tinker's cuss what his lordship has to say. Jimmy was one of the only friends Thomas had, he deserves to say goodbye.” declared Mrs Hughes, her voice defiant. </p><p>Carson raised his eyebrows at her disrespect and raised voice. It wasn't like her to say such things about his lordship. On the other hand, she had just had a long day, she must be tired. Everyone was so tired, but even falling asleep felt wrong. </p><p>“Is there to be a funeral then?” He asked, changing the subject before a fight broke out. He instantly realised this was the wrong this to say as Mrs Hughes’s eyebrows shot up, her expression darkening. </p><p>“Of course, why wouldn't there be?” she said, offended that her husband would ask something like that. </p><p>“Im sorry, I'm sorry, I just wasn't sure if the church would allow it, is all…” he muttered, avoiding his wife’s eyes.</p><p>“I know you made it no secret that you despised Thomas but really, this is harsh even for you. The man has just died, for God's sake, have you no respect?” she whispered, her eyes starting to fill with tears. “He may not have been the most orthodox of men and yes, he did have his vices, but does that mean he is deserving of eternal damnation? He will have a normal funeral that allows him to be welcomed into heaven, whether you like it or not. Shame on you Charles.” </p><p>Mr Carson looked down at the table, embarrassed by the person his wife was portraying him as. In some ways she was true though. Thomas was a sinner, in his life and now in his death, Charles had never hidden that he believed Thomas was deserving of punishment for his sins. Maybe eternal damnation was a little far, but it was definitely a step in the right direction. </p><p>It didn't seem fair to him that someone who died a sinful death, who committed an act of self-murder, would get the same amount of respect as someone like William who died for king and country. What had Thomas ever done in his life to deserve a proper funeral, to deserve mourners, to deserve respect. </p><p>But Charles knew better than to go against his wife. Of course, he was upset Thomas had died, but he hoped this would all blow over soon. </p><p>He hoped everyone would get over this and everything could get back to normal again soon.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>sorry for the short chapters guys, ive just been churning them out and uploading them as soon as i finish.</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0008"><h2>8. Chapter 8</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>15th August 1925</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Robert sat in the drawing room, sipping his whiskey alone. The others had long gone to bed, making their excuses hours ago. But Robert just sat there, a half empty glass of whiskey on the table in front of him.</p><p>He couldn't bear the idea of going up to see his wife. He knew that she had always valued him and he knew it was his fault he was dead. He had done so much for this family. He had been out at the crack of dawn, looking for Isis when she went missing. He had raised the alarm when he discovered the fire, carrying Edith out of the blaze with a disregard for his own safety. He had saved Robert's grandchildren from Nanny West, noticing how badly she had treated them. </p><p>And to repay him they had told him again and again how unwanted he was, how much they wanted rid of him. Looking back, it was no wonder the man had felt so disheartened. But suicide… that was something altogether more serious. Of all the staff, Robert would have put Barrow down as least likely to kill himself. He had always seemed so strong, a stable and loyal servant. </p><p>Lord Grantham shuddered as the image of Thomas’s corpse appeared in his mind’s eye again. It was like something one expected to see on a battlefield, covered in blood and half drenched in water. He shook his head quickly, trying to rid his head of the gruesome picture. </p><p>He knocked back the rest of the whiskey and stood, deciding it was time to go to bed. He looked to the large clock in the corner. Half past eleven. Hopefully Cora would be asleep when he got up. He walked up the stairs slowly, wanting to prolong his journey somehow. </p><p>Eventually he got to the bedroom and pushed open the door, stopping just before the hinges squealed. He peered round the door, looking to his bed. His wife's back faced him and her lamp was off. Asleep. Small mercies. He crept in and over to his dressing room, changing himself for the first time in months. It was much too late for Bates to come up now and besides, Robert planned to give him some time off, in wake of the recent news. </p><p>Losing a friend is hard, but losing a rival can hurt just as much. It takes away your sense of purpose. </p><p>He hung up his suit and climbed into his pyjamas. Robert looked sadly at the small bed he had set up in the room. If he slept in here it would be a surefire way of avoiding his wife. But if he was being perfectly honest with himself, he needed someone warm to hold tonight. He doubted sleep would come easy but having his wife next to him would make him a whole lot more comfortable. </p><p>Lord Grantham walked back into the bedroom and got under the covers, sitting up with his back against the bed frame. He sighed, wondering if it was even worth trying to sleep. Cora turned over, her blue eyes looking up at him before she rested her head on his chest. </p><p>“Oh Robert…” she whispered, her american accent soft with sleep. He stroked her hair gently as the image of Barrow, laying in a pool of his own blood flashed across his mind again. Cora noticed his small shudder and looked up at him again, her face asking him what she couldn't say. Robert took a deep breath.</p><p>“You should have seen him darling. It was… it was horrific, just horrific.” his voice was quiet and broken as he continued to stroke her brown locks. “There was so much blood… too much for just one man. It was everywhere. All over him and the floor and the servants, even the door was covered in the stuff… he didn't look like a person anymore Cora. I wish I’d never gone to see.”</p><p>Cora had nothing to say in response. She knew there was no way to magically erase what had happened that day, what her husband had seen. But she did know she had to support him through this, through the guilt and grief. When Sybil had died she chose not to support him, blaming him for the death of her baby girl. Looking back, she realised this helped no one. Even if she did blame Robert and Carson for Barrow’s suicide, she would still support him through this. </p><p>They may not have ever been particularly close to Barrow but he had been good to them, been loyal. They lay together for a while, just holding each other until Cora spoke up.</p><p>“Baxter and Mrs Hughes are going to speak to the vicar tomorrow, arrange a funeral. I said we would pay for it.” she whispered against his chest, clasping his free hand and rubbing circles into the back of it. </p><p>“Of course we will, my dear. It's the least we can do.” answered Robert. He couldn't imagine not paying for the funeral. Barrow had worked under him for almost twenty years, he owed it to the man. “Is he to be buried in the church here then? Does he not have a family plot somewhere?” </p><p>“Baxter gave me the impression his family wouldn't want him.” Cora sniffed. “She said they cut off contact with him years ago, before he came here… he must have been so lonely.” </p><p>Robert remembered how young Thomas had seemed when he first became footman at Downton. But he always looked older, behind his eyes. For someone to be rejected by their own flesh and blood, at such a young age, it must have been crushing. He sighed. </p><p>“I never knew. I never knew anything about his family. Or him for that matter. But I guess he was just staff. That's how it is.”</p><p> Robert couldn't tell you three things about his staff’s pasts. Sometimes he thought that was a good thing, keeping them at an arm's length, keeping them in their place. But then again, maybe if he knew Thomas’s past he wouldn't have been so harsh, wouldn't have driven him away.</p><p>“Do you think maybe we should change that?” asked Cora, her round eyes full of hope as she looked up at her husband. “Maybe we should get to know our staff a little better. They know so much about us but we don't even know where half of them are from, it hardly seems fair.”</p><p>Robert agreed. These people were around them as much as their real family, possibly even more. It wouldn't hurt to get to know them a little more. He decided to do it in memory of Barrow, as a form of apology. He couldn't take back what he did but he could improve.</p><p>He could make sure it never happened again.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>thank you for all the kudos so far! let me know what you think in the comments &lt;3</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0009"><h2>9. Chapter 9</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>15th August 1925</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Andy sat at his usual seat in the servants hall, staring at his book. He couldn't read it but it was too dark anyway, no one had bothered to turn on the lights, the small room being lit only by the fire that roared in the grate. Everyone in the room sat in silence, drinking tea and pretending to read their newspapers. All the hallboys had already gone up to bed, unable to stand the stifling silence any longer. Mrs Hughes and Mr Carson had departed for his office long ago, probably to arrange the next steps. </p><p>Andy looked to the fire. Each time his eyes wandered to it, he half expected to see Thomas, sitting in his rocking chair, flicking through a magazine. But the rocking chair was still and empty. </p><p>Andy sighed and stood up, deciding it was time for bed. In his room he would be able to process what had happened today, away from prying eyes. As he walked to the stairs, he noticed just how quiet the house was. It had been over a year since he came to Downton and not once had it ever been quiet. </p><p>Mrs Patmore didn't shout, Daisy didn't whine, the housemaids didn't giggle, the hallboys didn’t fight. It was as if everything had stopped the moment Doctor Clarkson shook his head. </p><p>The footman continued up the stairs, letting his feet take him, his mind absent and blank. He stopped just before he turned the corner to the corridor. The corridor that he had hauled Thomas's lifeless, bloodied corpse down, the corridor that would be covered in water and blood. </p><p>Andy shut his eyes and took a deep breath, mentally preparing himself for the carnage that would face him when he turned the corner. He stepped forward and opened his eyes.</p><p>It was spotless. The corridor looked as if it had been scrubbed within an inch of its life. Andy let out his breath in a whoosh of relief, slowly walking down the corridor to his room. On the way he walked past the bathroom. Curiosity overtook his natural instinct to stay away and he opened the door. </p><p>It was as if the whole day had never happened. There was not a speck of blood anywhere in the room and all the spilled water had been mopped up. Andy moved towards the bath, his mind conjuring up the image of Thomas laying there, half covered in his own blood. But the bath too was unblemished.</p><p>In some ways Andy was thankful it had all been cleaned away, saving him from reliving the memories any more than he already was. On the other hand, it felt mildly disrespectful. It was like everyone was pretending it had never happened, that Thomas had never slit his wrists and bled out in the bath here. </p><p>Andy walked over to the sink to wash his face. He still felt slightly dirty, as if Thomas’s blood was still covering him, despite the fact he had scrubbed himself raw when he got changed earlier. He lowered his face to the sink, splashing water up onto his face, washing away any tears that had lingered on his cheeks. </p><p>He was patting his cheeks with a towel when something shiny in the reflection caught his eye. It was under the bath. Andy put the towel back down and turned to investigate, dropping to his knees next to the bath and pushing his hand underneath. He felt around a while before he felt his hand collide with something cold and wet. He grabbed it and pulled his hand back.</p><p>A blood covered razor. </p><p>Andy felt as if the breath had been knocked from his body as he looked down at the thing that had killed Thomas, resting snuggly in his hand. Bile rose in his throat as he dropped it and ran to the toilet, throwing up what little dinner he had eaten. His body shook violently as he retched, tears streaming from his eyes as his throat burned. </p><p>“Andy?” came a voice from behind him. Molesley. “Andy, are you alright?” he asked quietly from the doorway, his voice even more shaky than usual. </p><p>“Am fine, go away.” growled Andy before his body convulsed again, a sob escaping his lips. Molesley seemed unconvinced, rightly so. </p><p>“Andy, are you sure you wouldn't like me to-” </p><p>“Go away!” barked Andy before the man could finish his sentence. Molesley reluctantly left as Andy rested his head on his arms, his body no longer ridding itself of his food.</p><p>He couldn't bear to be in the same room as the man, not after he allowed Thomas to become so unhappy. He couldn't bear to see anyone, knowing that they had all stood by and let Carson bully Thomas to his grizzly end. None of them ever tried to help Thomas. They all saw how unhappy he had become, why didn't they help?</p><p>Andy sobbed gently as guilt overtook him. He remembered how he had treated Thomas when Mrs Patmore and Mr Carson first began warning him about Barrow. They made him out to be a dirty pervert, someone who couldn't control themselves when presented with a young man. And Andy had treated him as such, ignoring him and making it known that he didn't trust him. </p><p>He had treated Thomas so badly when he was hurting, it was no wonder he had ended up doing what he did. He slipped to the floor, sobs wracking his body. </p><p>Andy knew he had killed Thomas.</p>
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<a name="section0010"><h2>10. Chapter 10</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>15th August 1925</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Anna and Bates walked back to their cottage in silence, just as they had sat in silence for hours prior. The night seemed unnaturally quiet, no foxes yowled and no owls hooted. The moon shone brightly, illuminating the dirt track they walked along. The silence felt stifling but right. She wasn't ready to talk about Thomas but couldn't think of anything else to talk about. She couldn't believe it was earlier that day he had died. It felt like weeks ago already. But the emotions were still as raw as the moment she saw Dr Clarkson confirm what they all feared. </p><p>She looked to her husband, walking alongside her. His face was stony and cold, finely tuned to not betray any emotion. But his eyes… they were sad and searching, they showed everything he felt inside. Anna took his free hand and held it until they arrived at their front door. </p><p>“I'll make us a pot of tea, you go sit down.” said John to his wife, placing a hand on her shoulder. “You've had a long, hard day. Go and put your feet up.” </p><p>Anna nodded in response, watching her husband head to the kitchen before she started up a fire. The striking of the match reminded her of the endless smoking Thomas used to do, going through packs at a time while sitting in his rocking chair. He'd started smoking much more recently. Maybe that was just his way of coping.</p><p>The fire began to light up the room as she went and sat in her armchair, halfheartedly reading the newspaper from a few days ago. It still didn't feel real. She couldn't wrap her head around the fact that he was gone, really gone, gone forever. She set down the newspaper, giving up on any attempt to read it.</p><p>She couldn't think of anything but Thomas, Thomas’s loneliness, Thomas’s blood, Thomas’s cadaver.</p><p>Bates walked into the room, carrying a tray of tea and some biscuits. Anna shot up from her seat, moving to go and help her husband. </p><p>“Oh, you didn't have to, i can-” </p><p>“No, no, it's fine, I've got it.” he responded, setting the tray heavily on their small table. They both sat down as Anna poured the tea. She passed a cup to John, getting a cup and a biscuit for herself. They both stared into the fire, silence becoming the norm. Eventually Bates spoke up.</p><p>“I don't know what to say…” He started, his voice low but soft. “I don't know what to do. I just- I don't know.” </p><p>Anna had never seen her husband like this, hopeless and lost for words. Even when he was in prison he was strong, stronger than this. But when faced with losing a man he had despised for decades, he fell apart. Anna placed a soothing hand on his knee, grounding him. </p><p>“I don't think there's anything we can do, darling.” she whispered, rubbing soft circles into his trouser leg. “It's too late now. It's over now.” </p><p>A tear slipped from John’s eye as the realisation hit him. It truly was over now. Thomas was gone forever. Why was he crying? He hated the man. Thomas was mean and oily and smug, he took advantage of his position to hurt people and seemed to feel no remorse in his actions. Surely John should be happy that he had died? </p><p>But then he was reminded of the softer side to Thomas, the side that played with the children all day and read to them each night, the side that sat defeated on his bed and spoke of how beaten he was. That man did not deserve to die. That man was kind and tender and broken, he was nothing like the cruel, callous boy Thomas had been, all those years ago. </p><p>He rubbed away his tears harshly, not wanting his wife to know he was crying over the death of a man he supposedly hated. But Anna, ever the observational wife, did notice and raised her hand to brush his tears away with her own soft thumb. </p><p>“Its ok to cry… you've had a shock. None of us saw this coming.” she whispered, moving to snuggle up next to him on the sofa. </p><p>“But we should have.” he countered, pulling her hand away from his face to grasp it in one of his. “We should have seen it coming… He gave us so many signs and we just ignored them.” </p><p>He remembered the time that Carson had commented on how disenchanted Barrow had seen and the man replied that he couldn't see the future. Was that his way of telling them all that he didn't intend to have a future? It made Bates wonder how long Thomas had been planning this for. He had so many questions but now that Thomas was gone, he knew he'd never get answers.</p><p>When someone died you expected a sense of closure, of finality. But Bates felt none of that. </p><p>He held Anna against him as she cried quietly, not great weeping sobs that shook her body like before, just small whimpers and sniffs as the tears slipped from her eyes. He stroked her blonde hair slowly, allowing her to let out all she was feeling. He felt like crying too, but found himself unable to, electing to hold his wife against him as he stared into the roaring fire instead.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>ayo, how the fuck am i on chapter 10, i literally started this the day before yesterday. </p><p>thank you for all the kind comments, they really make my day &lt;3</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0011"><h2>11. Chapter 11</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>15th August 1925</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Carson set down his now empty glass of sherry and stood up, tidying away all the evidence of their late night drinking. He stood at the door expectantly for a few moments before speaking up.</p><p>“I think we ought to head home now Mrs Hughes…” He announced, confused at why his wife hadn’t gotten up from her seat. </p><p>“You go.” She said, her voice quiet but commanding. “I think i'll stay here tonight.”</p><p>“Why ever for?” He asked as his wife sat, unmoving. </p><p>“Just to make sure everyone is okay.” She quickly improvised, not knowing how to tell her husband that she couldn't bear to sleep in the same bed as him after what he had done. “They have had a shock after all…” </p><p>“Mrs Hughes, I think you're making rather a big deal over nothing, everyone is fine. Now come home and stop overreacting.” He said, his tone condescending and harsh. Elsie snapped. </p><p>“Nothing? Nothing? How dare you! A man has just died, under your care and supervision may i add, and you say it's nothing?! That is low, even for you.” She growled, looking up in disgust at the man she called her husband. She couldn't bear to be in the same room as him, let alone the same bed. </p><p>“Mrs Hughes I- I didn't mean…” He started before trailing off, unable to defend himself when he knew her words were true.</p><p>“Just go home.” Whispered Mrs Hughes, her voice tired and defeated. “I'll see you tomorrow, just go home.” </p><p>He stood at the door for a moment more before leaving and slamming it behind him. Mrs Hughes let out a deep breath she didn't know she was holding as her husband left the room. She sat in his office for a while pondering their conversation. She wondered if she would ever be able to sleep next to her husband, touch her husband again, after he so good as killed a man she had known for decades. </p><p>She might have been able to find it in her heart to forgive him if he just took responsibility and apologised, vowed to become better. But instead he spent his time moving the blame off of himself, saying Thomas deserved to die, saying Thomas didn't deserve a funeral. The more she thought about it, the more she despised her husband for everything he did.</p><p>She rubbed her temple, a headache brewing at the thought of a future with that man. Hopefully he would see sense soon. She got up and decided to head to the servants hall and check who was still awake, as it was fast approaching midnight. </p><p>The room was dark, the dying fire the only thing that cast any light into the room. The whole room smelt off as if something important was missing. Mrs Hughes realised with a sigh that it was Thomas. By this time of night he would have smoked almost a full pack, sitting in his rocking chair by the fire. She looked to his chair. Emphatically empty.</p><p>The room itself was fairly empty, only Molesley and Baxter remaining at this time of night. They sat at opposite ends of the table but Mrs Hughes knew that just the presence of another person was comforting to them. Molesley stared at the book in front of him, reading the same paragraph over and over again. Baxter just stared into the fire, a cold cup of tea left untouched on the table. </p><p>It was Baxter that Mrs Hughes was worried about. She had known Thomas since he was a babe in arms, grown up with him. And now each time she shut her eyes, the image of his bloodied corpse filled her head. Miss Baxter was one of the most kindhearted and fair people at Downton, always going out of her way to help everyone else, not expecting anything in return. She didn't deserve pain like this.</p><p>The two eventually noticed Mrs Hughes standing in the doorway, looking as if she wanted to say something but didn't know the words. Molesley pulled out his pocket watch, the metal glinting in the half light.</p><p>“Goodness look at the time!” he said, his voice lacking its usual naive enthusiasm. “I should be getting off to bed. Goodnight Miss Baxter, goodnight Mrs Hughes.”</p><p>The two women wished him goodnight before he quickly scarpered out of the room, feeling as if he shouldn't be privy to the conversation that was about to occur. Mrs Hughes walked over to Baxter and lay a hand on her shoulder, both of them staring into the fire.</p><p>“We should be off to bed too.” whispered Mrs Hughes, not quite sure how to support Baxter. “It's getting late and we should be up early tomorrow.”</p><p>“No.” answered Baxter, her voice quiet and broken. </p><p>“Pardon?” </p><p>“I don't want to go to bed because… because then today will be over.”</p><p>“Surely that would be a good thing. Today hasn't been easy. Surely its best to hope that tomorrow will be better.” answered Mrs Hughes, confused that Baxter would want to drag out such a long and painful day. </p><p>“But today was the last day Thomas was here. The last day he sat in his chair, the last day he walked these corridors. If today ends it means Thomas ends, it means that Thomas becomes the past and I- I don't want us to all move on and forget about him.” her voice broke, a tear streaming down her cheek as her shoulder shook gently with the force of containing her sobs. </p><p>“Miss Baxter, I promise you we will never forget Thomas. He might not be here in person anymore but he will be here in spirit, in our hearts. We will always remember him.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0012"><h2>12. Chapter 12</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>15th August 1925</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Eventually, Andy’s wracking sobs slowed to a gentle shaking as tears ran down his face. He got up off of the floor and looked over to where he had dropped the bloodied razor. Maybe he should just throw it in the bin, get rid of it forever. Or maybe he should take it, keep the last thing Thomas had ever touched, something to remind him of the man who cared for him so deeply. </p><p>Andy bent over to pick up the razor, careful to grab it by the handle and not the blade. He pulled some toilet paper off the roll and wrapped the razor in it before pocketing it. He turned to look at himself in the mirror. </p><p>His face was red and swollen from crying. His eyes were in a similar state, puffy and bloodshot, still wet from a day of crying. He wet a towel and began pressing it to his face, hoping it would help the swelling go down somewhat. After a few minutes of gentle dabbing, his face was a lot less puffy and his skin was going back to its normal complexion. </p><p>He sniffed and left the bathroom, the razor still nestled deep in his pocket. His head was beginning to pound, as it often did after a bout of crying. He raised a hand to it, rubbing gently at his temple as he walked down the corridor. He stopped just outside Thomas’s room.</p><p>What would happen to all his stuff? Did he have a will? Would his family want his belongings? Andy had many questions but he knew that opening that door and upsetting himself more wouldn't help, so he continued onto his room. </p><p>He didn't feel like turning on his big electric light, not wanting to agitate his headache further, so he got his matches and lit a candle, the flickering of the light casting strange shadows around his room. Andy placed the tissue wrapped razor on his chest of drawers, still not quite sure what he intended to do with it.</p><p>He sat down on his bed, remembering the night that Thomas found out he couldn't read, how Thomas had vowed to help Andy, even though he had treated the underbutler terribly. When Andy apologised for his actions Thomas had simply said that he'd known worse. Andy's heart ached at the thought of Thomas being treated badly, knowing how much it had evidently hurt the man. Waves of guilt washed over Andy as he remembered how harsh he had been. Thomas was so strong to put up with that and worse all those years.</p><p>Looking back, Andy recognised all the snide comments that Carson had made towards Thomas. He remembered the day of Carson's wedding when the butler conveniently forgot to give Thomas a flower for his lapel, grumbling when Thomas asked for one. Mr Barrow must have felt so isolated, all these years of Carson purposely leaving him out would have sent anyone over the edge. </p><p>Looking around the room, Andy noticed a scarf that belonged to Thomas on the back of a chair. The footman had borrowed it a few days ago after his own flew off in a particularly harsh gale. Thomas had been so generous to lend him this. He walked over and picked it up, pressing it to his face to inhale the smell. </p><p>It smelt of Thomas’s aftershave, cigarettes and the unique musk that each human had. Andy breathed in deeply, letting his lungs fill with the smell of a man he had admired so much. He felt like this would be an appropriate time to cry but his eyes stayed dry, staring off into the distance as he inhaled Thomas.</p><p>Andy didn't sleep at all that night, he just sat in his chair, staring at the floor with the scarf pressed under his nose until the sun rose. </p><p>He felt wholly and completely wretched.</p>
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<a name="section0013"><h2>13. Chapter 13</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>16th August 1925</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Daisy was woken by her alarm at quarter to six in the morning, having gotten only a few hours sleep. Her pillow was still damp from her gentle crying the night before. She could still hardly believe Thomas was gone. She couldn't remember a time at Downton without him, save the war but most men were gone then. She remembered the crush she had harboured for that man decades ago, how he took her to the fair, holding her arm softly. </p><p>It felt like yesterday.</p><p>Daisy dressed slowly, pulling her hand back into a tight bun before leaving her bedroom to wake everybody else up. She knocked on all the doors, calling out the time. She got to Thomas’s door and stopped, her hand already resting on the wood. She took a deep breath and pulled it away, continuing her journey down the corridor. </p><p>After waking everyone up, Daisy went down to the kitchens to get started on breakfast. She cooked absentmindedly and efficiently, hardly noticing when Mrs Patmore came down to join her. The cook looked tired, but so did Daisy and probably everyone else. These next few days would be the hardest, thought Daisy, remembering how the loss of William had affected everyone. </p><p>One by one she watched the rest of the staff come down to the servants hall. They all had big bags under their eyes, obviously getting about as much sleep as Daisy. They sat in silence at the table as Daisy brought through the plates laden with sausages, mushrooms, toast, beans. She set each plate in front of the member of staff they were intended for, each of them wanting something different. </p><p>She lay down Mrs Hughes plate and moved to put down Thomas’s.</p><p>Oh. </p><p>She stood stock still behind his empty chair, just holding the plate as everyone stared at her. Her bottom lip began to tremble. She didn't know what to do. Suddenly a hand reached out and took the plate. Bates smiled at her.</p><p>“Thank you daisy.” He said as everyone stared. She scuttled away, eternally thankful that he had saved her. </p><p>She gave out the rest of the dishes without problem, but her eyes kept creeping back to Thomas’s empty seat. It felt wrong for them to eat without him there, as if they should have waited for him to join them. But he was never going to join them again. </p><p>She looked over to the piano, remembering the night she and Thomas had danced there. It was so kind of him to do that, even if he never liked her. She remembered how he growled, how his strong arms had held her, pulling her around the room. She had felt like she was flying. </p><p>Surely that strong, handsome man wasn't gone. </p><p>He couldn’t be gone.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>very short chapter this time, sorry guys. i hope you enjoyed it anyway!</p><p>(also i know that they typically served themselves at breakfast but i really wanted to show that daisy keeps forgetting that Thomas is really gone - sorry)</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0014"><h2>14. Chapter 14</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>16th August 1925</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The whole table sat in silence for breakfast, none of them commenting on Daisy’s slip up. It was strange not having Thomas at the table, as if the whole room was put off kilter by the lack of his presence. Miss Baxter kept catching her eyes drifting over to his seat, reminded painfully each time that he was not there, would never be there.</p><p>Today was the day that Miss Baxter and Mrs Hughes intended to go into Downton village to speak to the vicar. They had both written up the letters they wanted to send to the only people in Thomas’s life that they knew, Mrs Hughes having found Jimmy’s contact details in her husband's address book. </p><p>The letters they wrote were short, not disclosing exactly how Thomas had died, just that he had “passed away”. They had both left a space to write in the date of the funeral, once it was confirmed. Baxter felt like this was all in vain, she knew Margaret would never come to send her baby brother off. But it was worth a try. </p><p>One person that Phyllis hadn't bothered writing to was Thomas’s father. He had kicked Thomas out at fourteen, throwing him out onto the streets with nothing but the clothes he wore and a little cash that he kept on him. He got a job as a hallboy pretty quickly, but she got the impression that he had never forgiven his father for how he treated him. </p><p>Thomas’s mother had died when he was eleven and Phyllis got the impression that his father had taken his grief out on Thomas. It wasn't uncommon for men to beat their sons where they were from, it was almost seen as a healthy practice, toughening up your boy for the real world. But Baxter didn't know what went on in Thomas’s home life, couldn't see what happened behind closed doors. By what Thomas had told her, he didn't sound over what had happened. He wouldn't want that man at that funeral. </p><p>Mrs Hughes had been making a point of ignoring her husband all morning, answering his question with short responses that left no room for conversation. She still couldn't believe what he had said the night before, the fact that he seemed to feel no remorse for the death of a man under his care. He had bullied Thomas for years, trying again and again to remove him from the only place he had called home. He had as good as killed him with his own hands. </p><p>When Elsie looked to her husband, a feeling of love eluded her, replaced with pure unbridled disgust. </p><p>At least he had the sense to stay quiet during breakfast, breaking his silence only to berate Andy. He watched everyone slowly eat their food with their eyes cast down in sorrow. He couldn't believe that everyone was acting like this, acting like they were mourning over a sinner, a mean man who deserved nothing in this world. It was disgusting.</p><p>At the end of breakfast, Carson gave the staff an overview of the day, the jobs that needed doing, the mealtimes of the family. All he got in response were quiet nods and a nasty glare from his wife. This was beginning to get intolerable. Eventually everyone got up and began their day of work, save his Elsie and Miss Baxter, who were headed into the village to sort out the funeral (something Carson was still opposed to). </p><p>The two women left the house at seven, having arranged an appointment with the vicar at half past. They both wore old and battered black coats over their dresses, hats nestled softly on their heads. They walked in silence for most of the journey, thankful to be out of the oppressive grief of the servants hall. The sun shone brightly, a few fluffy clouds joining it in the sky. Birds tweeted in the bushes, swooping overhead and making patterns in the sky.</p><p>It was strange to Phyllis that the world could be so bright and colourful when inside, everything was a shade of grey. </p><p>Eventually they entered Downton village, the tweeting of birds replaced by the gentle chatter of people and the soft barks of dogs. They headed for the Church, walking slowly past the graves in the land that surrounded it. It was hard to believe that these lumps of stone were people, people like Thomas who had their own lives, had people who loved them. Now they were just gone and forgotten. Baxter’s heart ached at the idea of Thomas becoming like that.</p><p>Mrs Hughes knocked twice on the big wooden door of the church, Reverend Travis letting them in almost immediately. They set the date for Sunday the twenty-third of August, at 11am. Both of the women noted down the time and added it to their letters. They decided which hymns would be sung and who would make speeches, both of the women offering themselves forward. It would be some time before a headstone would need to be ordered, the ground taking months to settle. </p><p>It felt strange for Baxter to be arranging her best friend’s baby brother’s funeral. She had always assumed she would die first or that if Thomas did die, she wouldn't be involved in decision making whatsoever. It was sad that his family were not here to do this instead of her.</p><p>The two women left the Church with the sense of a job well done, having negotiated the funeral quickly and efficiently, with no tears, even if they did feel like breaking down and sobbing. They continued on to the post office, wanting to send their letters before the post van came. The woman behind the counter smiled at them sadly as she took the two letters, one for Jimmy and one for Margaret.</p><p>“I’m sorry for your loss.” She said, placing one of her large old hands on Baxter's small. News travelled fast in the country.</p><p>“Thank you.” Said Baxter quickly before removing her hand and walking briskly out of the store, avoiding any questions about his cause of death. Mrs Hughes joined her outside a moment later, a bunch of flowers in hand. </p><p>They walked back to the house slowly, their hearts aching gently.</p>
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<a name="section0015"><h2>15. Chapter 15</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>16th August 1925</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The family ate their lunch at seven thirty in the morning, as they did most days. Robert and Mary had deep bags under their eyes and Tom looked as if his mind was elsewhere, gazing into the distance as he absentmindedly ate his toast. Out of the four of them, Edith was the only one who didn't look like she’d been to hell and back.</p><p>She hadn't had many interactions with Barrow, the only memorable one being when he saved her from the fire. Of course, she was thankful to him for that, but one didn't mourn a firefighter, why should she mourn Barrow? Like the rest of her family, she had known him for decades, even danced with him at the servants ball, but she didn't really know him. Not like Mary and Branson and George.</p><p>It was all rather sad, but not enough to lose sleep over. </p><p>Tom shovelled toast into his mouth, unable to meet the eyes of anyone around him, especially not Robert or Carson. He remembered how those men had almost made it their mission to get rid of Thomas, a faithful and loyal servant who had saved the lives of so many people here. He stabbed angrily at his sausage, struggling to hold back from telling the two men how he really felt. </p><p>Tom and Barrow had never really gotten on, but they had grown a mutual respect for each other after the death of Sybil. Tom had watched how well Barrow got on with the children, reading to them each night, playing with them and bringing them toys. He was like a different man when he was caring for the children, the sly and smug mask gone, replaced by one of tender loving care. He hadn't yet told Sybbie about Barrow, wanting to be sure of what he was going to say before he went up to see her. </p><p>Mary just sat at her seat, not even attempting to eat. She had hoped that talking to George would help her feel better (the boy had a gift for cheering people up) but holding her son as he sobbed, tears slipping from her own eyes, had just made her feel worse. She had never seen George so upset before. He was too young to be losing someone he loved, he shouldn't have to go through something like this at his age.</p><p>Childhood was meant to be a time of sunshine and rainbows, not being held by your mother as the two of your sobbed. </p><p>“I hope Mrs Hughes has told you we intend to pay for the funeral, Carson.” Said Robert, his clear voice breaking the silence. </p><p>“She has, but i can assure you it's not needed.” Answered Carson, blustered by the impropriety. They shouldn't be paying for the funeral cost of a man who chose to die a sinner's death. The man shouldn't be having a funeral in the first place. </p><p>“Who else would pay it?” Asked Robert, angered by Carson's response. Did he not think they owed it to the man? “Because his family won't. Downton is the only thing close to a family he has left.”</p><p>“Where did you hear that, Papa?” Asked Mary, speaking for the first time that morning. She had given Anna however long she needed off, dressing herself until the maid felt she was ready to come back to work. Mary’s voice was flat and low, but filled with intrigue at what her father knew about Thomas’s home life. </p><p>“Baxter told your mother. Did you know they grew up together? Baxter and Thomas.” Answered Robert, taking a sip of his tea.</p><p>“Hm.” said Mary, regressing back to monosyllables. “Must be hard for her.”</p><p>Baxter must have seen Thomas as an honorary younger brother. Mary remembered how hard it was seeing her baby sister die, her heart aching. She thought about how much harder it would have been if Sybil had died in a pool of her own blood, in such a violent way like Thomas had. Poor Baxter.</p><p>“It must be hard for all the staff.” said Edith, finally feeling she had a place in the conversation. “They have all known Thomas for so long, he was probably like family to a lot of them too.” </p><p>In the corner, Carson silently disapproved. He had never seen Thomas as family. He would be ashamed to have someone like Thomas as family. Although he was a firm believer in sticking with your relatives, he could hardly blame Thomas’s family for distancing themselves from him. It was the only logical thing to do if you wanted to keep your reputation. </p><p>They sat in silence for a moment, thinking of the servants who had loved Thomas like a brother, only for him to die in an utterly preventable way. Guilt sat at the front of everyone's minds, reminding them that they caused this, that it's their fault a young man is dead. The silence became uncomfortable so Robert broke it once again.</p><p>“How did George take the news? He asked Mary, knowing that was why she went up to him the night before. His daughter looked up from her still full plate, her face darkening at the memory. </p><p>“Not well.” She said, her tone dark enough that her father didn't want to enquire further. Robert remembered how close Barrow was to the children, knowing that he was to thank in the saving of them from Nanny West. Once or twice he had seen Barrow running down a corridor with George on his back, the young boy squealing in delight. The children had loved him so much.</p><p>Everyone, bar Mary, finished their breakfast and stayed sat in their seats, unsure how to start their day. Tom and Mary had some work on the estate to oversee but Mary’s depressive silence and Tom’s mental absence would make that difficult. Robert did not particularly have any work to do but decided he should make a call to the stonemasons in Ripon, talk about getting a headstone made for Barrow sometime soon.</p><p>“Would you mind if I borrowed Teo for a walk? I think I might go and wake Sybbie, bring her too.” Said Tom, emerging from the silence he had adopted. </p><p>“Of course Tom, take her as long as you need.” Answered Grantham, knowing exactly why Tom was taking Sybbie on a walk. It wouldn't be easy to tell her, given how close she was to the man. “Her lead is on the hook by the door.” </p><p>“Thank you.” Said Tom quietly before standing up and leaving for the nursery. He wasn't at all sure how he would tell his daughter the news but he knew it was best to come from his mouth instead of George or Marigold who probably already knew. He knocked gently on the door of the nursery and peered in.</p><p>The room was dark, the curtains still shut, and all of the children lay asleep in their bed, snoring softly. He nodded a silent hello to the Nanny before tip-toeing across the room to Sybbie’s bed. She was curled up under her white blanket, a small stuffed bunny held tightly to her chest. He stroked her hair, watching in fascination as she slowly woke up, her little eyes twitching open.</p><p>“Good morning, darling.” He whispered as she sleepily stared up at him. “Do you want to take Teo on a walk?” </p><p>She slowly nodded yes, lifting her arms up, asking to be carried. He sat her up in bed first, dressing her quickly before hauling her up onto his hip with a muffled groan. </p><p>“You're getting a bit big to be carried, aren't you?” He grumbled quietly, careful not to wake the other children as he tip-toed back out. He carried her down the stairs and then put her down by the door, picking up the lead from its hook and shaking it, the jangling attracting Teo in no time. She bounded down the corridor and ran up to Sybbie, licking her all over the face as the girl giggled. Tom attached the lead and picked Sybbie back up, letting her ride him piggyback style this time.</p><p>He closed the door behind him and started their walk, heading for the collumned structures at the other end of the garden that he had never quite learned the name of. They stopped every few seconds as Teo sniffed at whatever she had found on the ground now. Eventually they made it to the columns and Tom put Sybbie down on the stone floor, his back aching as he bent over to let Teo off her lead. </p><p>He sat down next to Sybbie, leaning on a pillar as the girl climbed into his lap, snuggling into him as they watched Teo chase butterflies in the long grass. Now was the time to tell her. </p><p>“Sybbie darling…” He started, stroking the little girls hair carefully. “You remember how, when someone's time on earth is up, God sends down an angel to bring them to heaven?” </p><p>The small girl hummed in agreement. She remembered the day her da had told her that her mum was up in heaven, with George's father and God.</p><p>“Well, the other day, God sent down an angel for Mr Barrow and now he’s in heaven with Jesus too, so you won't be able to play with him anymore.”  He said quietly, his eyes prickling with tears.</p><p>Sybbie stayed quiet, her brow furrowed as if deep in thought. Eventually she looked up to her father, her eyes surprisingly dry. </p><p>“Can we pray for him? ‘Cause you said that praying for Mummy helps her, can we pray for Mr Barrow now too.” She said, her voice small but determined. Tom hugged her close to his chest, thankful she wasn't too upset. </p><p>“Of course, darling.” He said, his voice broken with unshed tears. Sybbie looked up at him, noticing his wet eyes. </p><p>“Don't cry Daddy, you can always talk to Mr Barrow in your prayers, you know he will always hear you.” She said, standing up to press two gentle kisses to her fathers shut eyelids as a tear slipped out. He chuckled as she did so, gracious that she was able to comfort him. </p><p>Sybbie ran down the steps to go and play with Teo, chasing her through the dry grass as the two of them jumped for the butterflies that fluttered just above their heads. Tom sighed and vowed never to take his lucky life for granted again.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>hope you enjoyed this chapter! i quite enjoyed writing Branson and Sybbie, hes always seemed like such a loving father. </p><p>thank you for all the kudos and comments, they really make my day! &lt;3</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0016"><h2>16. Chapter 16</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>16th August 1925</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Andy sat at the servants hall table in a daze, hardly noticing Daisy’s mistake, nor the tension that filled the room after. He spent most of his mental capacity on trying not to fall asleep, any remaining space devoted to Thomas and the razor that sat on his chest of drawers upstairs. His eyes began to close again as Mrs Patmore came to collect the plates. He opened them with a jolt as she said his name.</p><p>“Oh Andy, you look knackered, are you sure you're okay to work today?” She said, the comment more aimed at Carson than him. Mrs Patmore had never liked Thomas but she had expected the staff to get a day off for mourning at least. Carson obviously thought otherwise. </p><p>“Couldn't sleep, am fine.” He said, his voice gruff from disuse. He didn't want to talk to Mrs Patmore, remembering how she had poisoned his mind against Thomas, warning Andy of his foul ways. She had caused this, she had made Andy treat Thomas the way he did, made Andy isolate Thomas until he saw no escape but death. His mind travelled back to the razor sitting on his chest of drawers. </p><p>The older women looked at him with something akin to pity, everyone on the table turning their heads to stare at him. He put his head down, trying to shield himself from their gaze but he could still feel it burning through the back of his head. Eventually it was Carson that broke the uncomfortable silence.</p><p>“Well I do hope your drowsiness doesn’t affect your standard of work today, Andrew.”</p><p>Everyone's heads turned. How dare he. Andy felt as if he could just jump over the table and strangle the man with his bare hands. Did he have no sense of common decency? For a man who boasted his skill in grace and decorum, he was severely lacking any now. </p><p>Eventually everyone's heads turned back to their food, too tired to argue with Carson, the man always won. But Andy was still seething. Never before in his life had he loathed someone as much as he loathed Carson right now. Not only had the man as good as killed Thomas, he now refused to acknowledge the fact that people might be upset over the sudden and violent death of their colleague. If Andy’s career didn't rely on keeping his job at Downton, he would have gotten up and slapped Carson around his stupid smug face.</p><p>Eventually everyone got up to go and do their jobs, Mrs Hughes and Miss Baxter heading into Downton village to talk with the vicar, Anna and Bates heading up to the boot room, having been let off their morning duties, Carson heading to his office and Molesley readying himself to teach at school. Hallboys and housemaids were working too, milling around Andy, scrubbing the table he still sat at.</p><p>That just left Andy. Perhaps he should polish the silver, that always needed touching up. Or maybe he should head into the boot room and see what needs shining up. He decided to ask Thomas what to do, that man always seemed to know- oh. </p><p>Andy’s face fell as he realised he could never ask Thomas for help again. His biggest ally was gone. But he didn't feel like crying. He just felt empty, as if the inside of him had been hollowed out. There was a bone deep ache that consumed his body, filling each and every corner of him with ice. He just sat at his seat and stared off down the corridor, remembering how Thomas had walked down them so gracefully, his black tails twirling behind him. </p><p>Baxter and Mrs Hughes entered the servants hall. How were they back from Downton village already? How long had he been sitting in this chair, staring down the corridor? Mrs Hughes held a bunch of flowers, presumably for Thomas. They were white lilies with their green leaves still attached. Andy stared at where Mrs Hughes had placed them, his mind wandering off again.</p><p>“What are you doing Andy?” Asked Baxter as she removed her black gloves and placed them on the armchair next to the fire. </p><p>“I… um I’m not really sure…” His voice was quiet and broken as he looked around in confusion. Did he not have some work to do? Did he already do it? Andy had no recollection of the last few hours, one minute it was seven in the morning and the next it was half nine, Baxter and Mrs Hughes arriving home again. </p><p>“Maybe you should head up and get some sleep.” Said Mrs Hughes as the two of them looked down at him with pity. “I'll make excuses with Mr Carson, don't you worry. Go on, you look done in.” </p><p>He nodded and rose slowly from his chair, the lack of sleep making him dizzy. Plodding up the stairs to his small attic room, Andy felt as if he was asleep already, his steps much lighter than usual, as if he was in a dream.</p><p>Eventually Andy arrived at his room. He pushed open the door and stepped in, light streaming through the open curtains. He shut the door behind him and just stood there, feeling too tired to even get to his bed. His eyes drifted to his chest of drawers where the bloodied tissue containing the razor sat. </p><p>Powered by a sudden burst of energy he walked over to it, picking it up and holding it in his big hands, the weight of it comforting him somewhat. He unwrapped it gently, peeling the brown, bloodied tissue off of it. It glinted as he revealed it, the blood now dry and slightly sticky. He stared at it for a while, not quite sure what he intended to do with it. Then he remembered why he came up to his room in the first place and wrapped it back up, placing it upon the small bloodstain it had left on his chest of drawers.</p><p>He walked over to the chair where he had left the scarf, picking it up and inhaling deeply again, letting the scent of Thomas fill his lungs. He lay down in his bed and shut his eyes, his arms still wrapped tightly around the scarf as he held it close to his heart, letting the smell of it cover his bed. </p><p>He fell asleep quickly, having been deprived of it the night before. His dreams were dark and disturbing, full of dripping blood and floating cadavers. He remembered reaching out of Thomas, only for the man to turn around, his face covered in blood and his eyes missing. Andy tried to scream but no sound would come out.</p><p>He woke up panting, his sheets soaked with sweat. Every time he shut his eyes, Thomas’s bloodied cadaver appeared, his eyes sunken black holes. Would he have to dream this every time he went to bed? </p><p>Andy never wanted to sleep again.</p>
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<a name="section0017"><h2>17. Chapter 17</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>16th August 1925</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Anna knocked softly on the door to Lady Mary’s room, entering when the other woman invited her in. Mary sat at the chair of her dressing table, still clothed in her blouse and skirt, big dark circles under her eyes. She looked over her shoulder. </p><p>“Ah, Anna, you needn’t come, I can manage just fine on my own you know.” Said the Lady, absentmindedly brushing her hair.</p><p>“Don't worry, your ladyship, I find it helpful to keep myself busy at a time like this.” Anna’s voice was soft and quiet, barely more than a whisper as she opened Lady Mary’s wardrobe, picking out a dark blue dress. </p><p>Anna dressed her in silence, feeling unable to think or talk about anything but Thomas. She remembered, years ago, when Mary had mentioned how close Barrow and Master George were. Thomas was always a different man around the children, a smiling, happy man. All his problems seemed to disappear when he was playing with the kids. Maybe that was why he found it so hard to entertain leaving Downton, because it meant leaving the only people that could make him smile. </p><p>“How did Master George take the news?” Asked Anna, brushing Lady Mary’s hair. </p><p>“Not well. He was quite distraught.” Answered Mary, keeping her eyes low, lest Anna notice the tears in them. </p><p>“The two of them were quite close weren't they?”</p><p>“Yes. I wonder how long it will take George to get over it. I'm sure you can remember how upset he was when Isis died.”</p><p>Anna did. The boy didn't speak for days, refusing to eat or drink anything. Master George had always been very sensitive to death. Eventually, it was Thomas that brought him out of his veil of sadness. Who would bring him out of it this time, now that Thomas was gone. </p><p>Thomas had a way with kids. He could speak to them, understand them like no other adult could. If one of the children was having a particularly bad tantrum it was Barrow they called for, not the nanny. He could always calm them down within the minute, his soft words placating them. It was a gift, truly.</p><p>The two women put on Mary’s jewellery in silence, contemplating their fond memories of Thomas and the children. Mary spoke up again, her quiet voice breaking the silence.</p><p>“I cant get him out of my head. His body. I can't think of anything but his corpse.” </p><p>Mary’s voice was soft and broken. Anna felt quite the same. Thomas’s corpse had been a horrific sight, covered in blood and drenched in cold water. No one should have to see that. She stroked Mary’s shoulder, electing to stay silent as the older woman spoke. </p><p>“I keep wondering if we should have seen the signs. Looking back, he made it so obvious that he was unhappy.” Whispered Mary, breathing deeply to stop herself from crying. “I remember one time that I found him and George playing - George said he was cheering Barrow up. When I asked, Barrow just brushed it off, saying that everyone needs cheering up now and again. Why didn't I press further, ask what had upset him?” </p><p>“You weren't to know, your ladyship.” Said Anna, trying to calm Mary before she started crying. “None of us knew what was coming. We should have seen the signs but he hid them very well.” </p><p>“But what if we did see? What if we asked him what had upset him, tried to help him?” Mary’s voice shook as guilt overcame her. </p><p>“There's no use thinking of that now, M’Lady. You'll only upset yourself.” Said Anna, trying to pretend she hadn't thought the same things over and over. Maybe if they had helped him he would be alive today, not in a cold mortuary somewhere. She could hardly imagine the guilt Carson and Lord Grantham would be feeling right now, knowing that they had driven Thomas to his gruesome end. </p><p>Anna finished putting on Lady Mary’s jewellery and patted her on the shoulder, speaking past the painful lump in her throat. </p><p>“All done.” Her voice broke as she brang a hand to her mouth, a sob escaping her. </p><p>“Oh Anna…” Whispered Mary, standing up to wrap her arms around the younger woman. She rubbed a soothing hand down her back as tears sipped gently from her own eyes.</p><p>“I- I’m sorry your ladyship, i didn't mean to…” She trailed off, moving away from Mary as she wiped her eyes on a handkerchief. </p><p>“It's quite alright Anna, you've lost someone you've known for decades. You're bound to be upset.” Mary wiped her own eyes on her sleeve as Anna blew her nose quietly. “But we must carry on. For Thomas.”</p><p>“For Thomas.”</p>
  </div></div>
<a name="section0018"><h2>18. Chapter 18</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>16th August 1925</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Dinner was fast approaching and Andy was nowhere to be seen. The last time Carson had spotted him was at breakfast. The boy had looked quite unwell, deep black bags framing his eyes, his skin pale with a green tinge. Andy had mentioned not getting any sleep the night before, though Carson thought he was probably exaggerating. </p><p>The butler walked back to the servants quarters, having rung the dressing gong, and decided he could avoid his wife no longer. She would know where Andy was, she always seemed to know what was going on. He found Mrs Hughes in her sitting room, penning a letter. She looked up when he burst into the room.</p><p>“What is it, Mr Carson?” She asked, her tone infuriatingly neutral.</p><p>“Where’s Andy?!” He asked, exasperated. “I’ve just rung the dressing gong and he’s nowhere to be seen!”</p><p>“Andy is in bed.” Said Mrs Hughes plainly, putting down her pen. “He had got no sleep last night and was not in a fit state to perform his duties.”</p><p>“Oh for goodness sake, could you not have told me this before?” He groaned. “I’m sure we’ll be able to muddle through with just the three of us serving…” </p><p>“No.” </p><p>“Pardon?” Asked Carson, confused at what his wife objected to now. </p><p>“Not the three of you. The two of you.” She said, her voice taking a different tone to the one he had heard for the last few days.</p><p>“Ah… yes.” </p><p>Yes. Of course. Mr Barrow. Carson was almost ashamed to say he had forgotten that Thomas was gone. It was strange, he missed Thomas in a way. He had been trying to get rid of him for months, why was he missing him? </p><p>Carson just shook his head, as if he was trying to rid himself of the thought, before leaving Mrs Hughes sitting room. He supposed he and Molesley could manage dinner on their own. This is what he had wanted anyway, to be rid of Barrow, to serve dinner with Andy and Molesley alone. </p><p>Eventually, the time to serve came, he and Molesley ascended the stairs alone. The family gave him some strange looks when only two servants entered, as opposed to the four that had waited on them a few nights previous. </p><p>“Apologies, your lordship, Andrew feels too unwell to serve tonight.” Said Carson, his tone low and snide, showing his disapproval. Andy should be up here, doing his job, not in bed because he feels a little sleepy. </p><p>“Quite understandable, Carson. Do wish him a speedy recovery.” Replied Robert. </p><p>Understandable?! Understandable?! In his day, a footman like Andy would be punished for skiving off, he remembered that one boy had his wages frozen until he got better. But apparently it was ‘understandable’ now. Had they all gone soft? </p><p>Mary nodded in reply, her eyes still slightly red. Carson hoped to God she hadn't been crying over Barrow. A lady like her shouldn't be crying over a lowly underbutler like Thomas. He hardly deserved her thoughts, let alone her tears.</p><p>Thankfully, the rest of the family looked normal, if a little quieter than usual. It was undignified for a family to go into mourning for a servant, however long he had worked for them. Although Carson did notice they were wearing much duller tones than they usually would this time of year…</p><p>The dinner dragged on for what felt like days, though it couldn’t realistically have been more than a few hours. Molesley seemed mentally absent from the dinner, taking a few seconds to respond when a family member asked him for something. At least he had bothered to come at all.</p><p>Eventually, the dinner was over and Carson was worn out. He’d forgotten how hard it was to serve with just three of them, let alone two. He supposed he would have to adjust to this new way of life, it was what he had wanted after all.</p><p>They descended the stairs after tidying the dining room and all settled down for an early servants dinner, the family having excused them for the rest of the night. Carson thought this wholly unnecessary and had protested but they were adamant the staff should not be working any more than was strictly needed. </p><p>The servants dinner was a quiet affair, a little small talk here and there but none of the riveting conversations they used to have. Riveting conversations that were usually started by Thomas saying something particularly insolent. It felt strange to think that Thomas would never sit at the table making snide remarks again. </p><p>Around halfway through dinner, Andy stumbled into the servants hall, rubbing his eyes. About bloody time, thought Carson. Andy’s livery was slightly askew, showing that he had slept in it. Did the boy have no respect? </p><p>“Ah, Andy, you're just in time for dinner, sit down.” Said Mrs Hughes quickly, not giving her husband any time to berate him. Andy moved towards his usual seat at the table before noticing Molesley was already sitting there. The boy just stood still for a moment, not quite sure where to sit. Bates patted the seat next to him.</p><p>“You can sit here, Andy.” He said calmly. </p><p>Andy’s face dropped. That was Thomas’s seat. He couldn't sit in Thomas’s seat. Only Thomas sits in Thomas’s seat.</p><p>He merely stared at the chair for a few moments before taking a seat at the other end of the table, where all the hallboys and housemaids sat. Everyone ate in silence, Bates muttering a sincere sounding apology before finishing his dinner too. After pudding, most of the staff headed up to bed, leaving only Baxter, Mrs Hughes and Andy in the servants hall, Carson hiding in his office.</p><p>Usually at this time of night, there would still be the sounds of washing up in the kitchen, the chatter of the housemaids, the occasional shout of despair from a hallboy losing a card game. But recently it had just been silent. Everything was so still, as if Thomas was the only one that kept the world turning. The three of them sat in silence, just staring into the fire, before Baxter spoke up.</p><p>“I suppose we should clear out his room soon.” She whispered, her voice soft but pained. Baxter didn't have to say Thomas’s name for them to know she was talking about him. He was all they talked about, all they thought about these days.</p><p>“Do you know if he happened to have a will? It might be easier to clean if we know what he wanted us to do with it all.” Asked Mrs Hughes.</p><p>Andy just looked on and watched their conversation, not really wanting to add anything. To be perfectly honest, Andy didn't want to clean out Thomas’s room at all. It felt like they were removing all traces of Thomas, making it look like he never lived at Downton. It felt disrespectful.</p><p>“Doubt it.” Answered Baxter, her eyes still fixed on the fire before her. “He didn't have much money - lost it all a few years ago.” </p><p>“What on?” Asked Andy, his ears perking up at the chance to hear a story about Thomas.</p><p>“Some bogus medical treatment. He thought- he thought it would be able to change him… make him more like other men.” She said, her voice breaking.</p><p>“A few years ago… was that why he looked so ill? Because he was trying to change himself?” Inquired Mrs Hughes. She remembered the time well, Thomas had looked so worn out all the time, as if he was on death's door. She had asked him if he was okay but he just brushed it off each time.</p><p>“Mhm, he spent all his savings on it. Only for it to be a scam that almost killed him.” Answered Baxter, sounding so world weary. </p><p>“Poor wee bairn.” Said Mrs Hughes shaking her head sadly.</p><p> She could hardly believe Thomas would do something like that, he always seemed so comfortable in who he was. Well as comfortable as the law would allow. And to think that he almost died in an attempt to change who he was, how God made him. That wasn't the Thomas she knew. To be fair, the Thomas she knew had been gone for some while now. </p><p>Andy sat in silence throughout this. He assumed the whole debacle was before he had started at Downton because Thomas had never had as much as a cold in all the time he had known him. His heart ached for the man, the pain he had put himself through for something he couldn't help. </p><p>Andy’s stomach turned as he remembered how he had treated Thomas. Each snide look and rude remark would have been such a painful reminder that the treatment hasn't worked, that he would never be normal. If only Andy could travel back in time, stop himself from hurting Thomas like that. </p><p>“We should clean out the room tomorrow.” Said Baxter, breaking the sad silence that had descended upon the room. “Don't want to leave things to fester for too long.” </p><p>“Of course not, yes, let's do it tomorrow. Get it over with.” Said Mrs Hughes, her voice sounding somewhat stronger than before. Baxter hummed in agreement before slowly heading up to bed, the other two following shortly afterwards.</p><p>Andy was dreading tomorrow.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>yay i've finally got the motivation to write this again! i lost it for a few days but its back now.</p><p>hope you guys enjoyed, thank you for all the lovely comments &lt;3</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0019"><h2>19. Chapter 19</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>17th of august 1925</p></blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Andy woke at half past four, his arms still clutching at Thomas’s scarf. Barely an hour's sleep. His dreams had been just as demented as before, full of black holes for eyes and blood covering his hands. He buried his face in the scarf as he began to remember the dream, willing himself not to cry. Would it be like this every time he slept?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Andy just sat in bed for the rest of the night, his back pressed against the wall as he shook, trying to keep himself awake. If he stayed awake, he wouldn't have to relive the moment over and over and over again. He reached over to his bedside table to grab his magazine, peering at the pictures in the flickering light of his candle. He'd seen them all before but he just needed something, anything, to keep his mind busy, keep his mind off of Thomas.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span> Eventually, morning came and Daisy knocked on the door to his room. Andy put down his magazine, which he had flicked through more times than he could count, and began to get dressed. Today was the day they would clean out Thomas’s room. The idea filled Andy with dread. He wasn't sure he'd be able to stop himself from breaking down when faced with masses of items that belonged to Thomas, smelled like Thomas.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Andy entered the servants hall, noticing that Miss Baxter and Mrs Hughes were already awake, sipping at their coffees. They had obviously woken early like him. They muttered their good mornings to him before breakfast was served. Everyone ate in silence, apart from the occasional request for the butter to be passed. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Carson had excused Andy from serving at lunch so he could get Thomas’s room cleaned, but insisted he served at dinner to make up for yesterday. Andy briefly thought of fighting back before he realised he couldn't be bothered. It still wasn't fair that he should be working, so soon after the death of his dear friend and mentor. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The rest of the staff left to do their jobs, leaving Andy, Mrs Hughes and Miss Baxter alone in the servants hall. Andy drank his tea slowly, hoping to put it off for a little longer, even if it was just a minute or so. The boy was so nervous about his upcoming task. He knew he could back out and no one would mind, but he couldn't bear the idea of not being able to see how Thomas lived, one last time.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Right… We should probably get moving then.” Said Miss Baxter as Andy finally finished his tea. The three of the ascended the stairs, their faces dark and sombre. When they arrived at Thomas’s door they stopped and stood outside, not quite sure what they'd find inside. Would he have boxed everything up, would it be a complete mess? </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Mrs Hughes unlocked the door and pushed it open.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The stench of stale cigarettes hit them before they even looked inside. The smell was so intrinsically Thomas, it was almost like he was standing next to them, a fag dangling from his mouth. They walked into the room and surveyed the interior. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Thomas’s room was fairly large, larger than Andy’s at any rate. It had a small metal cot with peeling white paint pressed against a wall on the right. At the end of the cot was Thomas’s writing table, a few pieces of paper and a letter strewn across it. Andy remembered the endless nights of sitting with Mr Barrow at that table as the older man tried to teach him to read. Thomas had been so patient.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>In the centre of the room was a large persian rug with an intricate pattern. Andy’s room didn't have that so he could only assume it belonged to Thomas and he had bought it himself. On the beige rug there was a worn red armchair and a small table. On the table there was an overflowing ashtray, some cigarettes barely halfway done before they were put out. Maybe Thomas wanted to finish the packet before he ended his life. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>On the left hand side of the room there was an array of furniture. At the far end was a chest of drawers with a fair few trinkets and hygiene items on top. Next was another small table and the mantelpiece. There was comparatively little on these, only a few pictures, some candles and a clock. Closest to the door was a large mahogany wardrobe and a bookcase that towered over the three of them.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A few pictures hung on the wall around the room. Most were landscapes but Andy noticed a few people too. Were they Thomas’s estranged family?  Who else would Thomas have photos of?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“We should check his writing desk first, see if he left a will.” Said Mrs Hughes, breaking the silence that had descended upon them. Miss Baxter walked over to the table and started rifling through the papers that were scattered all over it. The mess of his desk seemed quite out of place compared to the rest of the room. Phyllis’s hand landed on a small envelope with nothing written on the outside to indicate what it might be. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Should we open it?” Asked Miss Baxter, passing the letter to Mrs Hughes who turned it over in her hand. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I suppose we’ll have to.” Said Mrs Hughes quietly. She felt uneasy about opening a dead man's post but knew they had to incase it was something important like a will. She picked up Thomas's small letter opener and tore it open. She pulled out the letter inside and began to read. </span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>To whomever is reading this,</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I have made the decision to take my own life. I hope you don't think me cowardly, but instead understand that there is no other way out. I have been on the search for a job for months with no avail and with each passing day, everyone here grows more eager to be rid of me. Even those who I considered friends are driving me away. I have tried for so long to be better, to be nicer but obviously my efforts were in vain. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>The latest rejection letter has been the final straw and I plan to end my life tomorrow morning. I apologise in advance for any inconvenience this may cause. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I beg of you, do not think of me as cowardly. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Goodbye. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Mr Thomas Barrow.</span>
  </em>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>The writing was shaky and smudged by tears in places. Mrs Hughes felt her own tears welling in her eyes as she read it. This was the last thing Thomas ever wrote. Elsie could almost hear the fear and resignation in his voice. He must have been in such a dark place when he wrote this. She could imagine him, hunched over this desk when he wrote it, shaking with sobs as tears ran down his face. She handed the letter to Baxter before covering her face with her palms, willing herself not to cry.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Andy listened intently as Miss Baxter read out Thomas's final words to him. Her voice broke at the end and she began to sob. She couldn't believe that Thomas had been planning this and they hadn't noticed. If it was a spur of the moment thing she may have been able to forgive herself for not realising, but this just showed how deeply unhappy he had been. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Andy moved forward and took Miss Baxter in his arms before Mrs Hughes took the letter off of her. She read over it again and again, as if there was something she was missing, something that would shift the blame off of everyone, something to put their minds at rest. But, alas, there was nothing other than the words of a suicidal young man that proved they were all to blame. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What are we going to do with it?” Asked Andy. He knew suicide was illegal so it was important it didn't get into the hands of the police. Who knew what they'd do if they found out what really happened? Andy was thankful the police had stayed out of the whole affair, although he thought that was probably down to Lord Grantham.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“We have to get rid of it.” Whispered Miss Baxter, wiping her eyes as she removed herself from Andy’s arms. “No one outside of this house can ever know. They wouldn't let us bury him. They can’t know.”</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Agreed.” Said Mrs Hughes, pocketing the letter. “I’ll get rid of it, don’t worry.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They all turned to the room, remembering why they had come in the first place. They started by going through Thomas’s desk, sorting out the masses of paper and letters. They halfheartedly hoped they would stumble across a will, some indicator of what Thomas wanted them to do, but they didn't expect to find one. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>In the desk they found paper, envelopes, stamps, a few pots of ink, a fountain pen, a small silver letter opener and some assorted letters. They shovelled the paper and the envelopes into the potato bag that Mrs Hughes had brought with them. This was the bag for rubbish. They combed through the letters for anything important.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>One was from his cousin in Bombay, asking if he had found a job yet. Another was from Jimmy, detailing his new job at a restaurant in London. There was another from Jimmy. And another. It looked like Thomas had kept all the letters from the ex footman. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They threw the letters into the rubbish bag too. It wasn't dignified to read through a dead man's letters. They left the rest of the items on the desk, deigning to figure out what to do with them later. For now, they were just going to clean away any rubbish or anything that might go off. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Next they moved onto the overflowing ashtray, pouring the contents into the bag along with all the empty cigarette packs that lay around it. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Then they came to his chest of drawers. Andy opened each draw, pulling out the contents for Mrs Hughes and Miss Baxter to sort through. Underwear and socks went straight in the bin. No one would want them. The undershirts and nightshirts went in the charity pile, as did his expansive collection of ties. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Andy had expected to be more upset by this, by the action of sorting through a dead man's clothes. But ever since Baxter had read Thomas’s final letter to him, a strange, numb calmness had overcome him. The other women sniffed occasionally, or stifled a sob as they held one of Thomas’s favourite ties but Andy just felt… nothing. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They moved onto his big wardrobe. Inside was his livery and an assortment of suits, including hats and shoes. His livery was left there, to be washed and put away for the next servant who needed it. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“We need to pick out a suit for him to- him to be buried in…” Said Miss Baxter, her voice breaking. It was hard for her to go through all of Thomas’s possessions, all the things that he had worn and washed and loved, painful reminders that he was here but now he's gone.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What about this one?” Said Mrs Hughes, holding his black pinstriped suit with a red tie. “He always looked rather fetching in it.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Mrs Hughes remembered when Thomas wore this suit shortly after the war, when he was lodging at Downton despite not working there. She remembered how he had intimidated Mrs Patmore into buying his tainted flour and baking goods. He seemed like such a different man to the one she had seen lying dead a few days previous, such a different man to the one who had written that letter.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They put the black suit aside and started sorting through the others. He had a fair few, much more than Andy. They were all in varying shades of black, grey or brown, some tweedy and some striped. Andy wouldn't have minded taking some of them, they all looked good quality, but his build was very different to Thomas’s. Most of his suits ended up in the charity pile too. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>His hats and shoes got thrown into the “keep” pile. Some of the staff would like the hats and at least one of the lads would have the same size feet as him. His burial suit was carefully folded, ready to go to the funeral home and his livery was prepared to be washed.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>A knock on the door stopped them from beginning to organise the jam-packed bookshelf. Anna’s small head poked round the door.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Lunch is ready.” She said in a hushed tone, as if it was disrespectful to talk properly in this room. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Thank you, Anna.” Said Mrs Hughes, dismissing her. “We should probably leave it here for today, you’re to serve at dinner tonight, Andy, and we won't have much time after.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Hmm.” Said Andy, noncommittally. He wasn't thrilled at the idea of going back to proper work, but on the other hand, he couldn't bear another minute in this stifling room. Everywhere he turned was a reminder of Thomas, how they couldn't save him, how they drove him to suicide. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Andy went through the rest of the day in a daze, just going through the motions of his job. At dinner, Lord Grantham commented that it was good to see him working again and Andy could barely find it within himself to respond with a short “Thank you, M’Lord.” All the time his mind was on Thomas, Thomas’s note. The note confirmed that Andy and the rest of the staff were to blame for his death. The guilt of it was consuming Andy.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Thomas should be here, serving the family, alive. Thomas had done so much in his life, he had served in the war for king and country, he had won Andy his money back at the velvet violin, he had taught Andy how to read and expected nothing in return. What had Andy done? Nothing. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Andy stared off into the distance, his eyes unfocused and sad. How could he possibly continue to live when he should be dead, not Thomas. He should have been driven from Downton, not Thomas. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Dinner went by slowly but Andy didn't really notice, his mind elsewhere. The servants dinner was soundless, apart from the hallboys and housemaids who chattered quietly at the other end of the table. Carson went back to his cottage shortly after dinner, as did the Bates's. One by one, the hallboys and housemaids finished their card games and headed up the stairs, Molesley following them after bidding Miss Baxter goodnight. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>This left Andy, Miss Baxter and Mrs Hughes in the servants hall. There was a faint clunking coming from the kitchen, but otherwise the room was completely silent as they watched Mrs Hughes remove Thomas’s letter from her pocket. She tore it quickly before tossing it into the roaring fire, the flames quickly destroying the small piece of paper. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“You must never tell anyone outside this house what you saw today, okay?” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Andy and Baxter nodded quickly, their eyes still fixed on the fire. The proof of Thomas’s suicide, of his causes, was gone. No one could prove a thing, unless they actually saw the body. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“I think it's time for you to be off to bed, Andy.” Said Mrs Hughes, sitting back down at the table. Andy got up from his chair and headed to the door. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Goodnight, Mrs Hughes. Goodnight, Miss Baxter.” He said quietly, his voice flat and emotionless.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Goodnight, Andy.” The two women said in unison as Andy climbed the stairs. He walked the corridor to his room slowly, lingering outside the door to Thomas’s room before quickly running to his. He got changed into his pyjamas and moved to his chest of drawers, picking up the razor again, turning it over and over in his palm. The weight of it was comforting. He popped it down again before climbing into bed.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He blew out the candle and lay down waiting for sleep. He waited and waited, hoping a dreamless slumber would consume him soon but nothing came. He stared at his peeling ceiling for hours, listening to the sounds of everyone else going up to bed and falling asleep, the pitter patter of a hallboys tip toeing to the toilet, the soft snores of Molesley down the corridor. But he still couldn't sleep.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Before he knew what was happening, Andy was standing and walking out his door, wandering barefoot down the corridor to Thomas’s room. He pushed open the door slowly. Mrs Hughes must have forgotten to lock it again after they left. The room was bright, the light of the moon streaming through the open curtains. Andy inhaled deeply, the musk of Thomas’s chain smoking filling his lungs. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>He shut the door carefully behind him, making sure it wouldn't click as it closed. For a moment he just stood on the persian rug, looking out at the moon, the same moon Thomas would have looked at so many times, from this same window. He slowly got into Thomas’s bed, covering himself with the many blankets, cocooning himself in a nest of the underbutlers sheets. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The scent of Thomas consumed him as his eyes began to shut, sleep overcoming his body. </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>i start school again tomorrow so it might take me a little longer to write each chapter, sorry!</p><p>let me know what you think in the comments and thank you for all the kudos! &lt;3</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
<a name="section0020"><h2>20. Chapter 20</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>
  <span>Miss Baxter rose slowly, the sun already streaming through her open curtains. She knew she didn't have to get up this early as her Ladyship had offered her the time off, but she felt she needed one stabilising aspect in her life right now, even if it was her work. She dressed quickly, her mind drifting to the letters she had found the other day.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Why would Thomas keep all the letters from Jimmy? Surely that wasn’t a normal thing to do. It was obvious that the underbutler had loved him, Baxter could see it as clear as day during the short time she and Jimmy served together. Did Jimmy ever love him back? Or was Thomas just pining? </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She was glad that Mrs Hughes had invited Jimmy to the funeral, hoping it would provide some clarity, even just to see him. They did seem like good friends whenever she saw them together but she couldn't help but wonder if there was anything more.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>After dressing, she went downstairs for breakfast. The conversations at the table were short and quiet. A sense of deep reverence still hung over the room. Baxter wondered if it would ever go away. Surely it would one day, but when? </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The post arrived near the end of breakfast, a few letters being handed to the younger staff, probably from their family. Carson passed a letter to Baxter. She instantly recognised the handwriting as that of Margaret Barrow; they had gone to school together so she had seen it hundreds of times before. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She opened the letter hesitantly. She was not sure how Margaret would react to the news that her baby brother had died. Would the letter be stained with tears? Would it be filled with heartwarming memories of Thomas as a child? Would it tell of regrets at how she treated Thomas?</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She pulled out the letter and read it quickly.</span>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Dear Phyllis,</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I take no shame in telling you that I will not be attending the funeral. To be perfectly honest, I think it shameful that a man of his nature is to be buried on consecrated ground. I have told Father about his death and he was relieved. We can sleep easy knowing that man is not on this earth anymore, ready to besmirch our family name.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I can only be thankful he died before he could meet my children and spread his ungodly ways onto them. I say without pretense that I am glad that The Lord has smote him down, it has been a long time coming. </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I wish you had told me previously that you were working alongside him. I could have saved you a lot of trouble by telling you to get away and fast. That man had no good in him and praise The Lord he is dead now.</span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>I do hope we can keep some correspondence, </span>
  </em>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <em>
    <span>Maggie. </span>
  </em>
</p><p><br/>
<br/>
</p><p>
  <span>Baxter’s hands shook as she read the letter. How dare she talk of Thomas like this? She hadn't seen the man in almost twenty years, she had no measure of his character to say things like that. She knew that Margaret despised Thomas, ever since she had cast him from their home, but the vulgarity of her words shocked the lady’s maid. The fact that she said all this with no shame was astounding. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>She set the letter down firmly on the table before picking up her tea, holding it to her face to hide the tears that brimmed there. How could someone be so cruel about their own flesh and blood? As she learned more about Thomas’s life, it gradually made sense why he did what he did.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What does it say, Miss Baxter?” Said Mrs Hughes, noticing the younger woman's distress.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It’s from Mr Barrow’s sister.” Said Miss Baxter as she passed the housekeeper the letter. Her voice was quiet and broken, betraying what was inside the letter. Mrs Hughes read it quickly, her eyes widening and a hand coming to her mouth. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“How could she…” Started Mrs Hughes before trailing off. By this point, a majority of the servants were watching on, eager to find out what the letter said. Eventually Bates spoke up.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What does it say, Mrs Hughes?” He asked, his eyes fixed on the letter that was now being neatly folded by the older woman.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“It's not for the younger staff’s ears. Rest assured, Thomas’s sister will not be attending the service.” She said before passing the paper back to Miss Baxter who promptly pocketed it, only causing the other servants' minds to race with their theories of what lay inside.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>After breakfast, Andy, Miss Baxter and Mrs Hughes all headed up to Thomas’s room for the second day of cleaning. The room itself wasn't particularly messy but it was so hard going through the belongings of a man who would have still been alive if it wasn't for their harsh actions. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>The thought occurred to Andy sometimes that maybe he shouldn't be so upset. He wasn't particularly close to Thomas, close enough to call him a friend but that was about it. Mr Barrow had called himself ‘Uncle Thomas’ once and that seemed more fitting than best friend. Thomas had taken Andy under his wing, had shown him how things worked, but they were never best friends, they didn't even know each other for that long. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Most of the rest of the staff had known Thomas for decades, Baxter for his whole life. Why was he more upset than them? Surely they should be hurling and grieving but most of them just seemed a little quiet. Maybe they were thankful he was gone, knowing his true nature. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“What did the letter say, Miss Baxter?” Asked Andy, breaking the silence that had overcome to room as they stripped Thomas’s bed and sorted through his suits. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Well… She told me that she didn't want to come to the funeral of an ‘ungodly’ man like Thomas. And a great deal worse things too which I’d rather not repeat.” Said Miss Baxter, her words slow and calculated, as if she was trying to forget what she had read.</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Why- why would she say something like that about her own brother, especially after he…” Andy trailed off, unwilling to finish the sentence. The footman admitted he had said and done some nasty things to Thomas during his life, but he was shocked that his own family would say such things. Maybe that was what Mr Barrow meant when he said ‘I've known worse’. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“The world can be a cruel place, Andrew. Thomas has been the victim of that over and over again.” Said Mrs Hughes, noticing the tears beginning to well in the lady’s maid’s eyes. Andy just nodded in response, understanding that he would never truly understand what Thomas had to go through. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>They cleaned the rest of his room mostly in silence, rolling up the carpet and leaving it outside the room. All of his personal hygiene items were binned and the other small trinkets were shared out between Baxter and Andy. Phyllis kept all of the family photos (seeing as she was the only one who knew the family), apart from one of Thomas just before the war, which Andy asked to keep. It was strange seeing Thomas so young, so full of life. Whenever Andy tried to think of him, the only image his mind could conjure was that of Thomas’s corpse. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Maybe keeping the photograph would help him remember what Thomas really looked like, when he was young and happy and alive. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>~~~</span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>That night at dinner, Andy observed how normal the family were acting. It had only been a few days since Thomas’s demise and they were already acting as if nothing had happened. All apart from Lady Mary and Mr Branson. Their faces were stoney and cold as they picked at their dinner. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Lady Mary couldn't help but think of how her son had sobbed when she told him the news. He had idolised Thomas so much, always telling Mary that when he was older he was going to be an underbutler ‘just like Mister Bawwow!’. The world was such an unfair place. Barrow shouldn't have lost his life, George shouldn't have lost his Barrow. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>Each night since Branson had told her, Sybbie had prayed for Barrow. Each night before bed, she wandered down the corridor to find her daddy, to hold his hand as she asked God and all his angels to look after Mr Barrow. Branson envied her, her blind faith and optimism. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>After dinner, he walked up to the nursery where Sybbie was standing in her crib, waiting for him with bunny in hand. He first went to her bedside drawer, removing the small rosary his brother had bought for her, its little black beads just the right size to be grasped in her tiny hands. </span>
  <span>Tom had not yet taught her how to use them properly, but she still liked to hold them as she prayed. </span>
  <span>He lifted her out of her bed and popped her down at the side of it, falling to his knees next to her. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“In the name of duh farver and of duh son and of duh holy spirit, amen.” Whispered Sybbie, knowing she had to be quiet, lest she wake the other children. Branson repeated her words before saying their prayer for Barrow. </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“</span>
  <span>Eternal rest grant unto Mr Barrow, O Lord, and let perpetual light shine upon him. May his soul and the souls of all the faithful departed, through the mercy of God, rest in peace. Amen.” </span>
</p><p> </p><p>
  <span>“Amen.” Whispered Sybbie, her eyes closed in prayer as she grasped her beads. </span>
</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Notes for the Chapter:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
          <p>good god i fucking hate this chapter. at least a managed to work some of my catholic knowledge into it. all that religious trauma wasn't for nothing!</p><p>anyway i hope you guys enjoyed, thank you for almost 70 kudos and wow i cant believe this is on 20k words! </p><p>&lt;3</p>
        </blockquote></div></div>
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